


As American As Apple Bacon Butty

by 50NoriStars



Series: Star Hero Post [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur and Alfred have a London Adventure, Inspired by the song Pub And Go, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50NoriStars/pseuds/50NoriStars
Summary: Alfred and Arthur have a London Adventure, along with animal versions of themselves. Based on the songPub and Go
Relationships: America & Canada & England & France (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia), America/England/France (Hetalia), Canada/France (Hetalia)
Series: Star Hero Post [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470365
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

It was Arthur's last recovery day at Dr. Edelstein's, though neither he nor Alfred was aware of this fact. That discovery was mere moments away, but at present it was simply lunchtime and Alfred's blue eyes crinkled in confusion at the lunch Arthur smoothly placed before him. "What's this? Where's the pie?"

"Pie?" Arthur smoothly served himself a plate of the sandwich squares he'd prepared, as his caregiver Feli was off doing more artwork for the Childrens' hospital. 

"Apple pie! Apple pie! Like you said over the phone."

At that Arthur's green eyes crinkled in turn, with humor, though he scolded fiercely. "Typical American narcissism, Alfred. To assume I said apple pie over apple bacon buttys. Moreover, that map in your truck you call a world map is a map of America only."

Alfred stopped wincing down at his charred bacon sandwiches oozing apple bits and brown sludge long enough to argue. "Nuh uh. Other countries are clearly on my map."

"Louisiana is not France, git. Neither is New England, England, or boot shaped Texas Italy."

Alfred just shrugged at that, not interested because his country was the greatest so why learn about any new ones? His country's food was the greatest as well, at least when compared to the compost heap that was his pile of British sandwich squares. "Um, Arthur? Are these really sandwiches? 'Cuz I don't see any ketchup, just rotting brown sludge."

"Rotting brown sludge? Rotting brown sludge? I'll have you know, _American _, that rotting brown sludge as you call it is classic HP sauce I had express shipped from London just for this occasion. HP referring to my country's Houses of Parliament. You do know what the Houses of Parliament are, don't you?"__

__Alfred cocked his blonde head in thought at the question, then replied. "Er...houses with compost bins you raided to make these sandwiches?"_ _

__"Wanker!" Arthur was across the table in an instant, smacking Alfred with the sandwiches Alfred preferred to be smacked with over having to eat them. But then a discarded object on the floor caught their combined attention to make them stop tussling. "Wot! Wot! Dust on my gait trainer?" Arthur exclaimed at the harness contraption he'd depended on to walk with for weeks following his head injury. "Has it been that long since I used those bloody toddler reins?"_ _

__Alfred also gaped at the sight, then gaped at the bright sunlit room that was not causing Arthur seizures. "Arthur, you haven't needed blackout curtains for a while either."_ _

__Arthur blurted happily. "So I haven't! So I haven't! Though I must confess I thought Luddy's light exposure therapy plan of opening the curtains an inch a day would take ages. But look at me now, seizure free and fit as a butcher's dog apparently."_ _

__"Yeah, Arthur yeah!" Alfred cheered, despite not having the slightest clue what Arthur's British expression meant._ _

__"Yes, brilliant that. And I reckon I'm fit enough for travel as well."_ _

__"Travel?" Now that was something Alfred could get excited about. "Where're we gonna travel, Arthur? Anchorage? Ketchikan?"_ _

__"No, git. Home. Home."_ _

__Alfred really brightened then. "Yah, home! Home is the best, and of course you wanna come home to my post and see the Northern Lights for real!"_ _

__"Er, no Alfred. That's not…"_ _

__"And I'll show you my airplane hangar, and my OPS office, and the kitchen where Matty makes pancakes. Though Francis the Frenchy French fuck seems to have taken over that space since he and Matty started dating. But I've got a turbo leaf blower that'll blast that francy pants out of Matty's life and out of life itself! Definitely worth disconnecting from the truck engine I've been supercharging, which you'll also get to see. And then we'll go snowmobiling, ice fishing, ice four-wheeling… What?" Alfred stopped suddenly when Arthur's green eyes began to tear up, and then it hit him. "Oh, you mean your home."_ _

__"Yes. I'm afraid I meant my home all along, Alfred. London, England" Arthur sniffed, but Alfred just shrugged._ _

__"That's okay, Arthur. I'm down to catch a Patriots game for our first travel date."_ _

__"Git! New England isn't England. And as for patriots...oh sod it. It would appear you need to come with me to England, Alfred. If for no other reason than to learn something, ANYTHING, about world geography and history!"_ _

__"Oh yeah?" Alfred smiled, then frowned down at the gross British sandwich squares smashed into his sweatshirt. "Okay I'll come. But only if I get to eat 'merican food."_ _

__"No you will not be eating American food in MY BLOODY COUNTRY." Arthur began smacking him again, even as Alfred wondered how either of them would survive the trip if only British cuisine was on offer._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis enjoys a little FACE time, at Alfred's expense.

The following afternoon Arthur exited Stars and Bars General hospital with Dr. Luddy’s medical release papers in hand and Feli’s goodbye tears on his neck. He walked across a country road to where Gilbert’s ambulance garage and home above were located and climbed into Alfred’s truck parked there. Moments later, after he'd dried his neck with his Union Jack print scarf he saw Alfred bound out of Gilbert’s garage carrying Gilbird in a large soft sided bird carrier, with Gilbert cackling out a window after him. 

“Kesesese! I prank you Alfred! You take meinen awesome bird, I give you awesome prank. Enjoy shitting pants from awesome fear, Alfred! Kesesese… Kesesese… Kesesese…” 

“Whew! That went better than expected.” Alfred sighed relief once they were five miles away from Gilbert’s cackling threats, with Gilbird’s carrier in the back seat along with their respective travel bags. 

“You think?” Arthur balked to make Alfred chuckle. 

“Chill, Arthur. Gilbert gets it. His pet has to attend your family’s toy race in London with the unicorn he found in order to claim any winnings for Stars and Bars charities. But Gilbert’s kind of a maniac, so this is his way of letting me off easy. A prank is way better than his forcing me to drink beer until I projectile vomit, trust me!” 

Arthur could only gawk at that, as Alfred’s heroics and tendency to bear the brunt of all things unpleasant never ceased to amaze him. I don’t deserve him. Not a bit of it. He couldn’t help but think, and swallow hard over and over as Alfred’s truck wove its way deeper and deeper into the Alaskan wilderness Alfred loved so well, same as Arthur’s late brother Alistair had been enthralled by. The bloody cheek of me, wrenching Alfred away from such natural splendor, and the town of Stars and Bars, which he has proven to be hero in chief of time and time again despite my misgivings. 

“Whatcha thinkin ‘bout?” Alfred’s childlike question broke the awkward silence Arthur’s deep thoughts had inadvertently brought on. 

“Erm...erm…how admirable?” Arthur mumbled, meaning Alfred was admirable, though he continued staring out the window to confuse Alfred who laughed. 

“Yup! ‘Merica is admirable. Best country there is!” 

“Excuse me!” Ultra British Arthur was instantly insulted. 

“You’re excused, Arthur. ‘Cuz how would you have known until now, living all your life in London, New England?” 

“London, _New England _? Is that where I live, Git?”__

____

____

“Yup. And the only heroes you knew before you met me were lame suits wearing, wimpy gun carrying, lobster roll eating James Bond types.” 

“Really? A lobster roll eating James Bond, you say?” 

“Well, duh Arthur. He’s from New England. What else would he eat while he’s waving pussy guns around talking like you?” 

“Wanker!” Arthur hit him then, but not hard enough to crash the truck which had finally arrived at their destination, Alfred’s tiny airport and tourist post. 

“Yeah! Fuck yeah! We made it, and I’m gonna show you everything once I drop off our things.” Alfred was out of the truck in a flash, running into the closest of three small airplane hangars with both their travel bags and Gilbird.

“Lord love him, to be so young, big and strong.” Arthur lowered his slightly older, smaller, frailer self out the mammoth truck with some effort, then joined Alfred in the hangar where the first sight that greeted them was Matthew with a hangdog expression hugging the nose of the British Aerospace 125 private business jet Arthur had flown himself to Alaska on. 

“Oh, shit. I forgot how much Matty loves your family’s planes.” Alfred groaned. 

“Not all the Kirkland family planes, Als. Just this one. ‘Cuz it was Alistair’s.” Matty sniffled, then slumped himself onto a creeper to resume checking all the jet’s grounding wires. 

“Oh yeah, Matty loved Alistair too, and Alistair loved Matty. But he especially loved Matty’s detailing work.” Alfred made model gestures at the jet’s perfectly buffed leading edges, while Matty continued rolling himself around the jet lovingly until…

_Whoosh. _The lights in the hangar suddenly went off, a cold chill swept through the room to indicate Alistair’s ghostly presence, then suddenly the flight log flew out the jet door to land squarely on Matty’s prone chest.__

__“Huh?” Matty sat up on his mechanic’s creeper to stare down at the flight log Alistair had thrown at him._ _

__“Huh?” Alfred and Arthur repeated, then all three cried out in surprise when the log took flight yet again to return to the jet’s cockpit, but only after it flung out a large envelope with Matty’s name written on it to land at Matty’s feet._ _

__“Well, open it.” Alfred croaked out once the hangar returned to normal, relieved to see ghost Alistair picking on someone other than himself for once. Hesitantly Matty did so, took out what looked to be legal papers, skimmed over each page quickly, then at last let out a happy whoop._ _

__“The jet’s mine! The jet’s mine! Alistair left it to me!”_ _

__“Wot!” Arthur exclaimed, then felt a smile tug at his lips while Matty ran around the hangar overcome with joy and happy squealing. “Ta, Alistair. Well done.” He spoke to the air, though he felt completely bamboozled at Alistair’s not making his intentions known before._ _

__“No way. No fucking way.” Alfred beside him bristled, then bristled all the more when an apron wearing Francis ran out of the post’s kitchen to see what all the commotion was about, and Matty collapsed into his arms blubbering. “Hey! What’s Matty doing that with Francis for? I’m the brother, he should be blubbering to me.”_ _

__Arthur gave him the side eye. “You, Alfred? All you do is ignore Matty, whereas Francis…” The sight of Francis bursting into happy tears at Matty’s news then the two hopping up and down while hugging tightly said all Arthur needed to say. However, the affection was oddly more father and son like than lovey dovey, much to both Arthur and Alfred’s surprise._ _

__“Yeesh! Matty always wanted a father while we were growing up in foster homes. Guess he sort of has one now.” Alfred conceded._ _

__“Yes, Francis does have some redeeming father type qualities.” Arthur also conceded as he recalled how warm and fatherly Francis had treated him when they were engaged briefly. “But speaking of family, it’s best I let my brothers know first thing Alistair the mad gift giver has struck again.”_ _

__“Oh, again? Alistair’s given away planes before?” Alfred asked innocently, then jolted at Arthur’s sudden pained expression. “What? What?”_ _

__“Not planes, Alfred. One big thing, which I was certain you were aware of, but now I see you truly believed...erm, something extraordinary…”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Erm...nothing. Nothing at all, Alfred. Please leave it.” Arthur paled and started to walk away but Alfred grasped his arm._ _

__“No, I won’t leave it. You tell me!”_ _

__They tussled a bit, until Francis’ mocking laughter across the room made them both stop short. “Oh hon hon hon hon hon. L'Américain did not know his post was gifted, quand it was so obvious?”_ _

__“Sod off, Francis. I’m the one who put my foot in it.” Arthur turned on him._ _

__“Hon hon! We did, as you say, sod off many times, when we were together Arthur. As I am sûr you have not forgotten. Mais, as for your enfant Américain…”_ _

__“Hey!” Matthew cut in now. “Alfred’s no infant, Francis! He actually earned this post.”_ _

__“Oh, hon hon hon Mattieu! You believe this too? C'est incroyable! C'est incroyablement innocent, mais très adorable.” Francis made to hug him again, but Matthew shrugged him off to run to Alfred._ _

__“Als, are you okay? Als? Your face is gray.”_ _

__“Just so, Alfred. Please speak to us.” Arthur also expressed horror at Alfred’s alarming grey pallor and odd shuffling of his feet as he thought and thought. Then finally Alfred finished thinking and lashed out._ _

__“All of you stop babying me, Fuck!” He ran for a door at the back of the hangar, while still easily carrying the luggage and Gilbird. Arthur made to go after him, but Matthew stopped him and ran after Alfred himself._ _

__“Oh hon hon hon hon. At last! We can have une conversation adulte without the children present, mon caterpillar.” Francis boomed across the room, then much to Arthur’s further horror walked to the kitchen and returned sans apron and with a travelling bag on his arm and a travelling coat draped over his shoulders._ _


	3. Chapter 3

"Als! Als! Don't do anything stupid!" Matty cried as he tried to keep up with Alfred's faster, luggage and bird toting form. It was hard to see in the quickly darkening light, but when at last he made out Alfred heading for their best overlook ridge, he feared Alfred might jump, but on arrival Alfred just flopped on the dark ground next to Alistair's memorial shrub. 

"Go away, Mats. I do hero things, not stupid things. I just AM stupid. Extraordinarily so, according to Arthur. You heard him." Alfred sighed sadly. 

Matthew flopped down next to him. "You're not stupid, Als. Arthur's just super smart 'cuz he's British and went to Cambridge."

"No I am stupid. Everyone says so. Alistair especially used to say so when we were fighting. So offering to sell me the post must have been one big joke to him."

Matty shook his squiggle haired head. "Nuh uh! I was there and he was totally serious. And the price he named was expensive. Well, at least to us."

"Yeah, to us any price was expensive. But then, remember how he found us? Scavenging for 747 food when we were doing that overnight galley clean, and he was stuck on the jet bridge waiting for his gate-checked bag."

Mathew brightened as he recalled. "My stomach was rumbling louder than yours, Als. But he was bigger than us, and hungrier than us after flying half the night, so of course he could relate." 

"Yuh, and he related to me being an asshole same as him."

"You weren't an asshole so much as you were embarrassed, Als. HE was the asshole when he found out all the concourse restaurants were closed for the night and the vending machines were empty."

"Yuh, a rich asshole who could buy a double catered private jet that second and hire us to service it. And later the Post when he decided he liked Alaska."

"I think he liked you more than Alaska, Als."

"Why? All we did was fight!"

"You two fought like wild bears, Als! But you were the only one big enough to best him sometimes. That must be why he gifted you the Post." 

"No. No." A voice both recognized as Alistair's voice accompanied by an eerie static noise suddenly crackled in reply, to make Alfred and Mathew jump up in fear. 

__"Fuck! Shit, Alistair! How're you sounding so close now?" Alfred swore._ _

___"No. Gift. Earn. Post." _Ghost Alistair's voice was broken up by the static, but definitely sounded closer than in its usual disembodied state.__ _ _

____"Als! That static noise is coming from Gilbird's carrier." Matthew pointed out, and they both scrambled to unzip the outside cover and peek past the mesh door beyond at sleeping Gilbird, his unicorn toy perchmate, and a small square EVP box emitting static noises and blinking wildly._ _ _ _

____"Fucking Gilbert! Prank me with some fucking EVP machine to make me almost shit my pants." Alfred groused then turned to stomp off._ _ _ _

____"But Als! Don't Cha think you should listen to Alistair now he can talk better?" Matthew asked._ _ _ _

____"Fuck no, Mats. Fucking Alistair pranked me worse than Gilbert."_ _ _ _

_____"No. Prank. Earn. Post. Now." _Ghost Alistair insisted, to make Alfred stop short.__ _ _ _ _

______"What, now Alistair?" Alfred asked. "Earn the post now?"_ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Earn. Now. Squidgy." ____ _ _ _ _ _

________"Huh? Squidgy as in Arthur?" Alfred was truly interested now, as he was interested in all things related to Arthur. But unfortunately, the tiny EVP machine could no longer handle mighty ghost Alistair's transmissions and simply fizzled out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"No wait, fucking machine. If you cut out now how am I ever gonna know now what Alistair wants?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Um… Als?" Matty nudged him and pointed to Alistair's memorial shrub._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Alfred looked, and saw on a huge fir tree next to the shrub a lone branch rustled to get his attention. Seconds later, that branch stopped rustling just as the one above it started rustling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Huh?" Alfred and Matthew said in unison as their amazed eyes followed the path of rustling branches climbing up and up the tree until they reached the tippy top. Then as they continued looking up they saw the most amazing thing. The Northern Lights which had just begun to make its nightly appearance shone a bright shimmering green._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Hey, that’s Arthur’s eye color!” Alfred exclaimed happily, then cringed when scary dark clouds seemed to envelop the constellation without warning to make the lights disappear._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Agh!” Alfred and Matty exclaimed, never having seen the lights die on them before, but then Alfred rallied._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No way. No fucking way am I letting that happen to Arthur, Alistair. Whatever the fuck that is you just showed me. ‘Cause I AM the fucking hero in chief of this town, and every other town. Even London where Arthur’s from. In fact London won’t fucking know what fucking hit it once I start daringly doing my fucking hero deeds there instead of here to protect Arthur. It’ll be fucking hero tastic, Alistair. More hero tastic than you rustling leaves, I’ll tell you that. What sort of wimpy ghost rustles leaves anyway? An old ghost losing his touch? Bwa ha ha ha ha ha….” At that a harsh wind seemed to blow in from out of nowhere, threatening to blast Alfred. “Uh, yeah yeah. Just kidding, Alistair! Don’t throw me. Don’t throw me, dude! Save my strength for London, New England and protecting Arthur!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now for some FRUK, FRUKUS, and a little more FACE, in three, two...

Back at the hangar, the dull throbbing between Arthur’s furrowed eyebrows that had sprung up at his upsetting Alfred quickly turned migrainous at the sight of Francis dressed for travel. Scotch, now! His injured brain screamed for a drink, despite Luddy’s strict Doctor’s orders he refrain from alcohol until the neurotransmitters in his brain were completely healed. Still, his green eyes searched the hangar in hopes of spotting where the mini libations for the private jets were kept, even as his mouth addressed Francis in his stiffest voice. “Right. What rot are you on about now, Francis?”

"You are so very stupide to insult me en ce moment, when I can make vous et votre famille méga célébrités pour a second time." Francis smirked. 

The bloody cheek of this frog! Arthur thought, yet was forced to concede that when he and Francis were engaged briefly, his family did experience a media coverage and charity donation blitz like the Kirklands had never known before or experienced since. 

“Eh bien, la publicité for the watch ad alone was astronomique!” Francis added. 

Arthur let out a strained breath and sighed. “So it was, Francis. So it was. But why bring up this ancient history now?” 

“Because, mon caterpillar! Votre famille is in desperate need of, as you say, un publicity comeback après so much doom and gloom following Alistair’s death et your injury. Pire encore, the unicorn toy race is just weeks away, but no press is intéresse in this after you botched the Christmas scavenger hunt.” 

Buggar! The ponce monster is only right. Arthur considered, more furious at himself for helping bring about such desperate circumstances than Francis gloating about it.

“Maintenant, imaginez how much publicité et donations would pour in a second time, if we were to renew our engagement et co-host votre famille’s charity unicorn toy race together.”

Arthur opened his mouth to let loose a stream of obscenities, yet nothing came out, as quite inexplicably, instead of swearing, his open mouth couldn't breathe in Francis’ refined yet lush scent enough. The scent took him back to lazy days spent in Francis' Paris flat, silk fingers stroking his hair, and calming French words soothing his ears to drive all headaches and anxieties away. 

Kip, now! Arthur wisely forced his imagination to crave a nap more than Francis, yet a nap was even more out of the question than alcohol, according to Luddy’s insistence Arthur’s recovering brain required daily structure. 

“Oh hon hon hon hon. I see you can imagine this, mon caterpillar. and other things more agréables.” Arthur heard Francis chuckle. Then when Francis clapped his hands in a decisive manner, the noise reverberated in his stressed ears like a clap of lightning. “Et donc, we are in accord on this. So let us depart pour Londres now, before les enfants return to blubber their goodbyes. Not that anyone would notice tear stains on vos natty clothes, mon plain caterpillar, mais mon beau white suit would be ruinés forever.”

“Wait, wot?” Arthur’s mouth finally managed to form words, and utterly gobsmacked words at that. “Accompany YOU anywhere, Bonnefoy? To renew the cock up of monumental proportions that was my engagement to you ten years ago? Never! And just what ‘enfants’ are you referring to? Never say you mean Alfred and Matthew. For two more admirable, hard working, community minded, GROWN men I have yet to meet.” 

Now it was Francis’ turn to express disbelief. “Grown? Them?”

Arthur nodded effusively to make his head throb all the more. “Yes, grown. Just as I said.” 

Francis sputtered at this, as his light blue eyes Arthur had always admired grew wide. “Mais...mais... They are enfants, Arthur! Enfants! Enfants who crash des motos dressed as super-héros, and make des crêpes shaped like animaux.”

Cor blimey, they do sound rather immature described like that. Arthur thought, yet he could not defend them fast enough. “Alfred crashed Matthew’s bike actually. And Matthew’s pancakes are round with syrup poured in animal shapes.” 

Francis listened, cocked his perfectly stylized head with the shoulder length hair that curled just so around his elegant face in genuine concern, then brushed silk fingers against Arthur’s bruised forehead. “Arthur. Arthur. You must still be très injured to not hear yourself sound comme un parent making des excuses.”

Arthur jerked Francis’ hand away, though he had sounded just like a parent even to his ears. “Right. Ta, thank you for that. But you’re one to bloody talk about acting impulsively at that age, Bonnefoy! You conned a barely legal teenager into running off and getting engaged with you.” 

Francis’ wide eyes filled with fake tears and he fake cried. “Quel con? I was sérieusement in love with you, mon caterpillar. And I still am. C'est pourquoi I always tell the press we are engaged, and refused tes brothers when they proposed.” 

“Wot? What rubbish are you saying about my brothers?” Now Arthur was really overcome with shock, and felt himself stagger back when Francis held up his phone. 

“Ici, regardez. Trois proposals from Dylan, et deux from Conner just today." 

Arthur looked, saw the texts were genuine, then blustered. “Lord love me. That Dylan and Conner would even think to… I have to get home now!” 

Francis brushed his forehead again in an effort to calm him. “Pshaw, mon caterpillar. There is no need to hurry our engagement. The press has been expecting it for some time, grâce to my constant reminders.”

“You mean thanks to your lies, ponce monster!” 

“Lies. Reminders. Quelle différence? So long as we finish our honeymoon co-hosting the race as méga célébrités, we can spend the weeks prior lounging in locations exotiques.”

“No. No. Never.” Now super desperate for several strong drinks and to get passed out drunk thanks to Bonnefoy’s psychological manipulations, Arthur crumpled Luddy’s follow up instructions in his hands so hard he gave himself a papercut. But thankfully, the pain along with the papers reminded him of something rather important concerning Francis. 

“I say, Francis?” He rallied, then tapped a finger against Francis’ forehead much like Francis had done to him. “How are YOU getting on after that near death experience you had in hospital recently, hmm? Cellulitis, I believe it was.” Green eyes searched and found micro inflammations on Francis’ face despite a layer of expertly applied makeup. “I dare say, you’re nowhere near fit enough for Luddy to clear you for travel, let alone travel to locations exotiques. Where you would no doubt lounge about naked and contract cellulitis for a fifth time this year, or so the press has reported.” 

Now it was Francis’ turn to express shock. “La presse reported cela? I did not tell them.” 

Arthur chuckled. “You didn’t have to. Your near death experiences are legendary at this point, Bonnefoy. And safe to say, neither you nor I, but especially you, are in a position to embark on any major life changes from a medical standpoint. So any and all marriage engagements and or ceremonies would be considered null and void in a court of law. Which explains perfectly why my brothers proposed to you, as it were. To con you for the sake of the race.” 

“Conn moi?” Francis repeated, flabbergasted. “Après how well I treated you, and made you and them célèbres?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Sorry about that.” Not sorry. Not a bit of it. Arthur thought gleefully, then added. “So the unicorn race will just have to carry on with me alone as presenter, as per usual.”

“Quoi, toi? Alone? Quelle boring!” Francis cried.

“Yes, yes. Quelle boring, indeed. But then again, Alfred’s presence will flag things up considerably.” He punned, when that young man with numerous American flag motifs on his leather jacket suddenly burst into the hangar at a dead run, still carrying their luggage and Gilbird. 

“Arthur, are you okay? I saw… I saw… Hey! Why’s the French Fuck standing so close to you?” Alfred declared.

Both Arthur and Francis were taken aback for a second. They were standing rather close, and as loathe as Arthur was to part from Francis’ nostalgic scent, he smirked to Alfred. “Relax, Luv. Francis was merely showing me his many cellulitis scars.” 

Of course this made Francis wince, and run straight for the jet’s reflective leading edges to check his makeup much to Alfred’s annoyance. “Oh yeah? Well I got a turbo chainsaw blade he can look in next, while I dismember him!”

“No Als! You promised you won’t kill him.” Mathew returned next, to quickly grab Francis and tug him towards the kitchen. “At least not until after we make a fortune selling our Maple-Rons.” 

“Maple-Rons? What on earth is a Maple-Ron?” Arthur asked Alfred once they were alone. 

“Oh that.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “Maple-Rons are these lame Maple Leaf themed macaron cookies they invented, that taste like pancakes on the outside and maple syrup on the inside. Nothing special.”

“No?” Arthur cocked a thoughtful eyebrow, then cocked it higher when the most delicious smell emanated from the kitchen. “Actually, that’s quite brilliant, that is.”

“Yeah, well, Only if you’re obsessed with pancakes like Matty.” Alfred snorted. “Me? I’d make Burger-Rons!” 

“Yes, you would do.” Arthur frowned, already missing Francis’ subtle lush scent tickling his nose compared to Alfred’s burger breath assailing it. But then Francis himself returned bearing macaron cookie gifts, along with a knowing glint in his eye. 

“Arthur. Bon appétit!” He boomed, and Arthur warily reached for a macaron, only to be taken aback by two cookie designs he wasn’t expecting. A yellow Gilbird themed macaron edged with candy sprinkles resembling bird seed, and a unicorn themed macaron edged with candy sprinkles in a rainbow design. 

“Oh, Lord help me.” Arthur sighed, too impressed to actually eat either masterpiece, clearly designed by Francis to garner publicity for the race. 

“Votre famille will distribute them throughout Londres? Et send journalistes to film me baking them?” That man hooted.

“Yes, Francis. These I can’t resist.” Arthur conceded, to make Francis swagger back to the kitchen triumphant while Alfred balked. 

“You can’t resist? You can’t resist? What’s not to resist about that lame ass French fuck and his lame ass, Francy-pants macarons! I’ll chainsaw him into macarons, fuck yeah! Starting right. Fucking. Now.” Alfred made for the kitchen but Arthur stopped him. 

“No no, Alfred. I need him alive for publicity, and you alive and not executed for murder so you can... Accompany me to London!” Arthur finished with a happy gasp, then hesitated. “That is, if you still wish to accompany me after Alistair so greatly offended you.” 

Alfred flushed in embarrassment for a second, then looked deep into Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur. Alistair didn’t gift me the post, he wants me to earn it by protecting you. That’s what he told me and Matty outside just now. But then he showed us something awful in the sky involving your eyes. But I love your eyes, so please don’t let them fade away, or whatever it was Alistair meant that I don’t understand, but it looked horrible!” He shuddered.

“Oh, Luv. Come here.” Arthur hugged him and patted his head like a child. “You’re to pay no more heed to Alistair’s warnings from this moment on, or make yourself fractious over earning this post. It’s yours, and yours alone. Same as my health is my concern, and my concern alone.”

“But Arthur! My superhero senses…” 

“No. No. Not a bit of it. Past time we were off. Off to London.” Arthur released him, then yanked on his jacket sleeves until he stood up straight.

“Ow. Ow, Arthur! Whatcha doing that for?” 

“You’ll be needing proper posture for London, Alfred. Especially on Downing Street where I live. You do know Downing Street, don’t you? Where my country's Prime Minister lives?” 

“Downy huh? Prime wha..?” Arthur asked, then brightened. “You live on a street with laundromats and steak restaurants? Cool!” 

“Uh no, Alfred. That’s not…” 

“I’m so going to eat all the steak burgers!” 

“The hell you say! And again, no eating American food in MY BLOODY COUNTRY!” Arthur yanked his shoulder sleeves extra hard one last time to make him yelp, then happily tugged him and the luggage he was still carrying towards Matty’s plane and...home.


	5. Downing Street Precursor: Arthur Eyebrows and Alfie Hero Sleepy Paws

Downing Street  
London, UK

In a Georgian brick pub called the Kirk and Land, against a bow window bearing the name Arthur and Sons Glass-Works, a sleeping cat stirred. 

_____ _

_____ _

__Arthur Eyebrows, Brows for short, bristled his all over cream fur save for two tabby stripe 'eyebrows' in annoyance at the commotion outside his window seat. Minutes earlier, a security handler and a group of Cocker Spaniel sniffer puppies in training had left a nearby firehouse for an explosives sweep. As this was a frequent occurrence on Downing Street, where political buildings and reporters clamoring for interviews abounded, Brows barely opened one emerald cat eye in acknowledgement. But no sooner had he closed it to resume snoozing..._ _

___Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. ____ _

____A puppy with a blonde fur coat and a tuft of fur sticking straight out his forehead had actually slipped away from the doggy patrol to loiter at Brows’ window alone. This surprised Brows at first, but he relaxed his fur and resumed lounging after a moment. The puppy was quite young, and had just recovered from an illness, or so his watery, mostly unseeing blue eyes seemed to indicate. As such, he was no threat, even when he placed a curious paw on the window before moving on to sniff his way across the street where historical Kirkland House and a private office complex next door had no need for taxpayer funded security._ _ _ _

____Once there, Brows observed lazily, the puppy got hold of a discarded burger wrapper, scarfed down the bite inside, then proceeded to sniff for more and whine at every unlucky reporter and camera holder in possession of a burger. However, when that enterprise proved futile, the puppy’s nose led him to a steel garbage bin at the bottom of Kirkland House steps where a burger wrapper was trapped in the slats._ _ _ _

____Now this got Brows’ full attention. He sprang up in alarm, worried the puppy would tip the bin over on himself the same way a Foreign Office cat had once tipped the bin over on herself and died as a result. Intent on preventing similar tragedy, Brows darted out an antique letter box that also served as a cat door and bounded across gated off Downing Street past reporters, two of which recognised him and called out ‘Brows Mate!’_ _ _ _

____“Oi, Ankle-Biter! Stay clear of that bin.” Brows hiss scolded the puppy on arrival. “It’s a vile dangerous object. What? Whoa!” He exclaimed when the puppy toppled the bin easily away from himself completely unscathed, then rolled it end over end a few times until the wrapper fell out. “He’s strong!” Brows acknowledged to himself, then made to leave as the puppy was clearly strong enough to shift for himself. But then the puppy dropped the wrapper in surprise to reveal a name tag, Sleepy Paws, and blinked mostly unseeing blue eyes at Brows._ _ _ _

____“Window cat? Come to meet me?” He arfed, nose sniffing wildly in Brows’ direction before he bounded over with tail wagging. “I’m so happy!” Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. He couldn’t sniff Brows enough to compensate for his limited vision._ _ _ _

____“What, you’re not scared? I thought you’d run. And how is it that you’re American?” Brows balked at the puppy’s accent more than his undignified sniffing. Brows would be giving himself an extra long cat bath this day once he returned home._ _ _ _

____“Smuggled here by a breeder.” Sleepy Paws replied between sniffs. “Got pulled out her purse and placed in quara...quara…”_ _ _ _

____“Quarantined, were you?”_ _ _ _

____“That’s it! The sick place.” Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. “But then a fireman brought me here to be a sniffer dog.” Sniff. Sniff. “And I’m the best sniffer! I’ll be the best hero dog pictured on the firehouse wall in no time!”_ _ _ _

____“Will you, now.” Brows wasn’t convinced. “You’ll be sniffing yourself out of a job, more like. If you go on sniffing cats and burger wrappers in place of explosives.”_ _ _ _

____Sleepy Paws stopped sniffing and cocked his furry head. “Oh, is that wrong?”_ _ _ _

____“I’ll say!” Brows shook himself and licked himself a few times to restore some order to his disheveled fur. “You’re to only sniff for explosives from now on, daft dog. Not burgers, and especially not cats. AND you are to stay with your patrol group. Now, off with you.” He gave Sleepy Paws a gentle, claw retracted whack in the direction of where his handler and co-trainees were currently patrolling, but the puppy just stayed put._ _ _ _

____“Why should I go back? The other dogs shun me and the firemen just ignore me because they think I’m still sick and can’t smell good. But I’m the best sniffer. I’m the hero sniffer!”_ _ _ _

____“Hero sniffer, right.” Brows was still unconvinced._ _ _ _

____“Yes! I smell better and hear better than other dogs because I can’t see good.”_ _ _ _

____Brows considered this, as he’d known blind cats with similar heightened senses. “Alright then, prove it. What do I smell of?”_ _ _ _

____“Burgers!”_ _ _ _

____“Certainly not! It would seem your firemen handlers have the right of it. Your nose has completely lost the plot, as it were.”_ _ _ _

____“No? Not burgers?” Sleepy Paws sniffed the air. “But I smell cheese, bread, and something greasy.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, that.” Brows conceded. “So you can smell. You’re just too American to know WHAT you’re smelling. Which in my case would be open faced pub sandwiches and pork scratchings, not rubbish burgers.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh.” Sleepy Paws acknowledged sadly, then began to whimper. “But I was hoping you could bring me a burger, because all I get to eat at the firestation is boiled chicken and rice because the firemen think I’m still sick. But I’m not still sick! My tummy wants tasty food.” His tummy rumbled for emphasis._ _ _ _

____“Well.” Brows sympathised. “Perhaps I could provide you with the occasional pork scratching treat if you’re a good sniffer dog and do as you’re trained.”_ _ _ _

____Brows expected the puppy to rally at that, but he only whimpered more piteously. “But I do sniff out explosives all the time, like a hero! But the other dogs can’t smell as good as me and walk away like nothing’s there, and the firemen think I’m sick and can’t smell good, so I miss out on treats! And I want treats! Whoo, whoo, whooooooo!” He began to howl softly and throw his puppy head back in despair, but in doing so he got a whiff of something interesting under the Kirkland House steps. “Explosives! There! There! Explosives!”_ _ _ _

____He sprang for the steps, nearly knocking Brows over in the process. “I say, dog. Mind your jumping next time, and mind you don’t sniff celebrity property.”_ _ _ _

____“Celebrity property. What’s that?” Sleepy Paws asked as he continued sniffing and pawing at some bricks at the bottom step. Seconds later he began to bark excitedly and plant his butt on the bricks over and over. However, his barks were hardly loud enough to attract the attention of his group across the street, and he soon got tuckered out from his futile alerting and lolled his head sleepily._ _ _ _

____“Celebrity property is property that doesn’t keep you in feed, lazy sod. Because celebrities pay for their own security, and don’t appreciate tax funded sniffer dogs pawing at bricks and tipping over bins. Not a bit of it.” Brows explained, even as he himself jumped onto the overturned bin and sharpened his claws on a piece of wood trim._ _ _ _

____Sleepy Paws heard the movement more than saw it. “But you just touched this property, why can’t I?” He yawned before flopping onto the bricks he'd been pawing earlier in a dozy heap._ _ _ _

____Brows huffed. “I, daft dog, am a cat. In case you haven’t noticed. And as such, I own everything my scent glands rub against, and humans understand this, so I’m sorted. Now pay attention while I educate you.”_ _ _ _

____“Can’t. Sleepy.” The puppy yawned again. “I sleep more than the other sniffer dogs, I know. That's why the firemen changed my name from Safety Paws to Sleepy Paws. But I can't help it. There’s a sound I hear sometimes that other sniffer dogs don't. It's my go to sleep sound."_ _ _ _

____“A go to sleep SOUND? What nonsense dog logic is this?” Brows couldn’t believe his cat ears. “Heat, not sound, is the best sleep inducer. Have you never experienced a sunlit window seat? Warm bar towels just come from the launders? Hot laptop computers on pub tables?” Brows rattled off, but soon stopped when he realized the puppy was fast asleep._ _ _ _

____Poor daft dog. He thought, then leaped down to press an ear against the bricks the puppy slept against but heard nothing. The daft thing’s ears have lost the plot the same as his nose. Brows assumed, then thought better of it. Perhaps Sleepy Paws' other senses were heightened due to blindness? What then? What could he be hearing and smelling under those bricks?_ _ _ _

____Bosh, that’s for humans to sort out. He shook off all concerns, for he was a cat after all. I’m off for a kip of my own! And with that he returned to his pub home, where his warm sunny window seat awaited._ _ _ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Alfred arrive in London to a rather strange welcoming committee.

Poor sod. Arthur peeked at hungry, cramped Alfred stuffed in the passenger seat of a Mini Cooper as they drove the M4 to London. The car’s small size only added to the culture shock Alfred had already experienced during the flight thanks to Arthur’s cooking. “Brown sludge.” He’d cried. “Brown sludge salad, brown sludge main course, brown sludge pudding not _JELLO _. Someone kill me please!”__

__Right, enough. Arthur thought when the younger man let out a piteous hunger moan. He had already offered to drop Alfred off at an American themed hotel and fast food complex near the airport, where he could rest and eat to his stomach’s content while Arthur dealt with his brothers and the press camped out on Downing Street near his family home. Yet Alfred wouldn’t hear of it._ _

__“Arthur, I’m here to protect you and earn my post like Alistair said.” He’d cried, more than he’d cried over Arthur’s cooking. And no amount of soothing would budge him on that point, so instead Arthur found himself exiting the motorway to do something he’d vowed never to do should he become a parent._ _

__“Fancy a burger?” He winced as he pulled into a McDonald’s drive through._ _

__“Real burgers? Not brown sludge ones?” Alfred begged._ _

__Arthur ordered him three double burgers and three fries, (with ketchup, horrid!), and a large cola with ice. (Even more horrid!) Then the two took some much needed fresh air at an outdoor table while watching the sun set slowly over nearby London. As Alfred chomped and slurped, Arthur struggled to find a way to tell him something important. “Alfred, I’m afraid the press won’t take kindly to your accompanying me here, and my brothers even less so.” He at last managed to spit out._ _

__“No?” Unphased Alfred continued eating, and only paused to rub some burger grease on a jacket cuff to smell later as it reminded him of home. “Well, the press we need for the race. So any press good or bad is a good thing right? And your brothers, who cares? I’ll just be unkind back if they’re unkind. Mangle their tea set like I mangled Matty’s lame tea set, no problem.”_ _

__Arthur’s eyebrows shot up in terror at the thought. “Mangle my family’s Sèvres tea service, Never! It’s priceless! Every Royal since Queen Anne has sipped from it at some point.”_ _

__“So.” Alfred sniffed his last bite of burger than his grease spot wistfully. “The Royals can get their own set after I mangle your brothers' set.’”_ _

__Arthur’s eyebrows managed to express further shock. “Well of course the Royal Family owns tea services far more priceless and of greater historical value than anything my family owns.” He explained._ _

__Sniff. “Really?” Alfred asked distractedly. “Then what’s the problem?”_ _

__The cheek of this man! To find sniffing grease spots more important than the Royal Family! Arthur thought, then conceded that at least he’d managed to warn Alfred of the press and his brothers. “No problem, Alfred. No problem at all. Shall we go, then?”_ _

__Alfred nodded, and soon they were back in the Mini covering the last stretch of their journey. Alfred gawked out the window at London landmarks once Arthur had arrived downtown, then was quick to extricate himself from the cramped car when Arthur at last parked in a converted carriage house turned garage that backed onto Downing Street. “No.” He refused Arthur’s help with their luggage and Gilbird’s carrier. “You just close the trunk.”_ _

__“Actually, it’s a boot here.” Arthur told him upon closing it and locking the car._ _

__“Say, what?”_ _

__“A trunk is called a boot here.”_ _

__“Why?” Arthur cocked his blonde head. “Trunk is the right word, so why not say that?”_ _

__“Excuse me?” Arthur balked. “Trunk is the right word, you think? Not the bloody English word for it, in bloody England where you are currently visiting?”_ _

__“Yup. Trunk is the right word, and any other words you Brits get wrong. But don’t worry, I’ll set you all straight. You’ll all be talking good in no time!”_ _

__“Git!” Arthur made to smack him, but gave up when Alfred became too distracted by a security camera to bother._ _

__“Hi!” He waved. “Whoever’s looking at me, hi! Trunk is the right word for boot. Say it with me. Tr-unk.”_ _

__Lord! Arthur thought, but couldn’t help but smile at the ‘lesson’ his brothers were now receiving via live streaming onto their computers._ _

__“Tr-unk. Tr-unk.”_ _

__“Never mind, Alfred. You can give more lessons later.” He let slip a chuckle as he tugged Alfred to a Seventeenth Century pegged wood door which led to a boarded up former Victorian era alleyway beyond, complete with gas lamp remnants._ _

__“The fuck, Arthur! This is some Jack the Ripper shit!” Alfred yelped when the door shut and left them in darkness._ _

__“No, Arthur. That would be Whitechapel. This is Westminster.” Arthur sighed as he chose a flashlight from a shelved assortment and led them through the passage to another pegged door_ _

__“Oh, not London? I thought you lived in London. So where are we then, France?”_ _

__“Certainly not!” Arthur huffed as he placed the flashlight with others on a second shelf, then unlocked the door that opened on Downing Street. “As if I would ever live in France or have anything to do with France and Francis Bonnefoy ever ag…”_ _

__“Dormez-vous! Dormez-vous! Dormez-vous Arthur Kirkland!” A menacing female screech rendition of Frère Jacques assaulted Arthur’s gobsmacked ears at the same time roses assaulted his gobsmacked face the moment he stepped onto Downing Street._ _

__Frère Arthur  
Frère Arthur  
Dormez-vous?  
Dormez-vous?  
Dormez-vous forever  
Dormez-vous forever  
Die, die, die!  
Die, die, die!_ _

__Arthur stared speechless at a colorful steampunk attired group screeching and throwing flowers through the steel gate closing off Downing Street, not thinking how their display could affect his still healing brain. Alfred however, couldn’t warn them off quick enough. “Hey, yo. Bustle butts. My boyfriend’s recovering from a brain injury, so take your fucking screech singing and flowers back to loser Victorian hag hell NOW.”_ _

__“We’re not bustle butts, we’re Blood Roses. Bonnefoy Blood Roses. The leader informed him and waved a coffin sign bearing that name. “And we hate your boyfriend for dumping Francis, AND we hate you for crashing Francis’ photo shoot.”_ _

__At that Arthur shook his head with instant remorse. This is what I get for bankrolling anything Bonnefoy oriented. He groused mentally, as no doubt Francis had spread more lies than frosting during his televised baking interview to garner sympathy from his fans. However, Alfred beside him was anything but remorseful at the unexpected turn of events. “Cool! Drama” He beamed, and nudged Arthur excitedly. “I’m gonna totally play this up for the race. Watch this. Hey yo! Blood Roses!” He taunted. “Fuck yeah I crashed Francis Bonnefoy’s photo shoot! That was totally me throwing a buffalo at him. Glad you enjoyed it!”_ _

__“You’re that idiot?” A reporter blurted out upon overhearing, then shouted to her camera crew. “Film him! He’s the Alaskan that crashed Bonnefoy’s photoshoot.” Two cameras, then eight, then dozens all turned to film Alfred while microphone holders ran over._ _

__“Yuh, I’m the guy that crashed the photo shoot. And this is the BIRD that crashed the photo shoot.” Alfred whisked the cover off Gilbird’s carrier._ _

__“That’s the bird that bombed Francis with bird droppings!” The reporters happily acknowledged, even as the Blood Roses booed._ _

__“Boo! Boo! We hate that bird!” They threw thorny black stems at Gilbird’s carrier, and instantly the bird stopped chattering happily and started ramming his cage door._ _

__Alfred grinned all the more at this while Arthur fretted. “Ha ha, hags! You shouldn’t have done that, because Gilbird’s the ultimate attack bird. Go, Gilbird. Go!” He ordered, and no sooner did he open the door Gilbird flew straight at the group to blitz them with bird droppings._ _

__“Screech, screech, screech!” Gilbert swooped on them._ _

__“Agh! Agh! Agh!” They ran away in a flurry of bustle skirts and coffin signs wielded like shields as Alfred and the reporters laughed._ _

__Arthur however, was fractious. “Oh no! Poor Gilbird. He’ll get lost in London.” He touched the bruise still healing on his head when that throbbed from stress, and reporters ‘awed’ with concern._ _

__“Arthur. Arthur.” Alfred kissed the bruise and hugged him. “Relax. A beer stein brings Gilbird right back. So long as it’s filled with German beer.” Alfred assured him, then told reporters. “I tried American beer once, and Gilbird flung it at my balls. Hurt like a mother fucker.” He winced at the memory, and all the male reporters winced with him while all the female reporters concentrated on Arthur._ _

__“Arthur, should you be out of hospital?” One inquired._ _

__“I was only in hospital overnight, then physical therapy. But I’m fine now for the most part.” He replied stiffly._ _

__“And Francis Bonnefoy. Is it true he nearly died while visiting you in Alaska?” Another asked._ _

__“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss Francis’ medical history.” Arthur answered carefully._ _

__“But your fiance himself told _France24 Radio _just today that he nearly died in Alaska to be with you only to get dumped.” Yet another reporter brought up.  
____

___“Did he? I hadn’t heard.” Arthur frowned initially, only to feel curious seconds later. Could it be true? He wondered. Francis traveled all the way to Alaska to be with him?___

____“The fuck!” Alfred exclaimed, at the flattered glint in Arthur’s eyes more than anything. “Arthur’s not engaged to Bonnefoy. Hasn’t been for a decade!”_ _ _ _

____“A decade, eh?” The reporters murmured amongst themselves, and Arthur tapped his bruise again from worry. A retrospection about his and Francis’ former engagement, though good publicity for the race, was the last thing he himself would wish to see in print. “And is that THE watch you’re currently wearing?” They leaned forward for a closer look._ _ _ _

____Arthur sighed, and held up his wrist to display the watch Francis had tricked him into wearing for a watch advertisement the day they met and got engaged. A watch he could never bring himself to stop wearing for some reason he himself had yet to figure out, but was truly embarrassed now that Alfred was reduced to stepping back uncomfortably._ _ _ _

____“No Alfred, stay.” Arthur blew off the cameras and used his watch hand to retrieve Alfred and squeeze his hand. “Please don’t leave me.”_ _ _ _

____Alfred grinned victorious at that, and squeezed his hand back. “Aw! As if I’d ever leave you, Arthur.” He returned, and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek for the reporters benefit. But this was hardly enough for Arthur._ _ _ _

____“Sod it!” He growled, then pulled Alfred’s head down for a proper snog to make the reporters titter with delight as cameras filmed the kiss more than the watch. But no sooner had the kiss deepened enough for Arthur and Alfred to completely lose themselves in each other, the Prime Minister left his residence to make the press abandon Alfred and Arthur and rush to his side of the street._ _ _ _

____“We can stop now, Arthur. The reporters are gone.” Alfred joked against Arthur’s lips when both paused for air._ _ _ _

____“Stop you say, git? I should think reporters leaving us is a signal to proceed! And not a moment too soon, for it was a long flight after all.” Arthur winked, then whispered to Alfred all the sexy things he wanted to do once they reached his flat in the building directly across from his family home and Alfred couldn’t collect their luggage fast enough. However, just as he and Arthur were about to make a run for it._ _ _ _

____“Not so fast, eejits.”_ _ _ _

____Two men who looked somewhat like Arthur, one tall and more primly dressed, (which Alfred would have never thought possible!), and a slightly shorter red headed one that looked profoundly Irish blocked their path.  
____

___“Past time you two came up for a mineral already.” The Irish one who’d spoken before cocked his red head towards Kirkland House while the prim one smirked so mockingly Alfred didn’t even have to guess they were Arthur’s brothers._ _ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More strange receptions, followed by first encounters with Arthur Eyebrows and Alfie Hero Sleepy Paws!

It was an ear-splitting day for poor Brows in his window seat. How he wished for a normal Friday afternoon, with reporters leaving early for the weekend to drink at the locals near their homes instead of in his pub. But instead a celebrity of sorts had arrived from America with his boyfriend to spark a screech singing display outside the gate, so piercing Brows dove under a patron’s jacket placed on the window ledge to muffle the noise. But now the patron and jacket had left to leave him scrambling to cover his ears with just his paws as two loud press conferences erupted. Will this clatter never end? He thought, but then soft pawing and sniffing could be heard outside his window in addition to everything else. 

“Woof, window cat. Woof! I got loose again.” 

Brows peered one disgusted emerald eye over his paw, and there on the other side of the glass was the blind puppy from two days ago. Why? Brows wondered, as the dog should have run from fear at Brows’ initial scolding. Yet here he was again. I’ll soon set him to rights. Brows decided, and crossly but gently hissed disapproval. “Return to your handlers forthwith, Skiver.”

“Why?” Sleepy Paws arfed and wagged his tail happily just from being spoken to. “I get to eat burger crumbs when I’m loose, and talk to you which makes me happy! Because you’re my big brother.” 

Brows couldn’t believe his cat ears. What was this pup on about? That he, Brows, was the pup’s big brother? Then Brows experienced a cat flashback of sorts to his kitten years, when he experienced abuse from a bruiser, bigger kitten brother, followed by a madcap, transient existence with a young selfish Royal who had adopted him only to abandon him the same way he’d abandoned his many lady friends. I’m hardly big brother material, Brows fretted, but still felt sympathy for the little blind pup, who was in need of a proper human to care for him same as Brows had been during a brief stint living on the streets before the pub owner took him in. 

“Fine. I’m your big brother.” Brows conceded with a nervous cat stretch and shake of his head. “And as such, I’ll protect you as best I can until you find a proper human to care for you.” 

Sleepy Paws wagged his tail wildly at that suggestion. “Human! Human! Yeah, I want a human. Especially one that smells like that human over there.” He sniffed the air in the direction of the taller man in the celebrity couple. “Cold. Fluffy. Play. Cold.” Sniff, sniff, SNIIIIIIIFF. 

“Cold?” Brows bristled his fur in horror. 

“Yes, cold. Fun cold. Wanna roll my body and root my nose in it, fun cold.” He started to sniff towards the tall man standing amidst a massive crowd of reporters, but Brows was out his letterbox cat door within seconds to stop him.

“No Skiver, stay back! Too much of a crush. You’ll be trampled underfoot for certain. So best you wait with me until the crowd dissipates.” He walked him to a safe spot under the window ledge, just as a second group of oddly dressed humans bearing instruments gathered outside Downing Street’s steel gate to wreak yet more havoc on Brows’ poor ears. 

Arthur and Alfred grudgingly started to follow Arthur’s brothers Dylan and Conner across the street, but just as they approached Kirkland house, a Revolutionary War style Fife and Drum Corps bearing the name, ‘Yankee Noodle Boys,’ arrived at the Downing Street Gate. “Alfred F. Jones. Alfred F. Jones.” They drummed and shouted in time to get Alfred’s attention, and that man looked at the same time reporters pointed and cameras filmed them playing and singing. 

Yankee Noodle went to London  
Riding on a Noodle-O,  
Stuck his noodle in Arthur  
And called it noodle-Alfredo!  
Yankee Noodle keep it up,  
Yankee Noodle nasty,  
Stick your noodle in Arthur,  
Keep sticking it to Franc-y! 

“Yeah! Yeah!” Alfred cheered and pumped a fist in the air while Arthur beside him smiled a flustered yet flattered smile. “Play it again!” Alfred shouted, and the group started to oblige, but then the corps stopped playing and stepped aside when a German accordion group bearing the name, ‘Die Gilbird Boys,’ arrived wearing Tyrolean hats with beer steins attached. “Gilbird. Gilbird. Willkommen.” That group shouted to the air, then began to play _Fliegerlied _, or The Aviator Song, as the Noodle Boys corps played along.__

__(In German)  
And I fly, fly, fly, like a plane I am so  
Strong, strong, strong, like a tiger and so  
Tall, tall, tall, like a giraffe  
So tall-oh-oh_ _

__And I jump, jump, jump, and keep on jumping,  
And I swim, swim, swim, over to you and I  
Take, take, take, you by the hand  
Because I like you and I say_ _

__Today is such a beautiful day-  
La, la, la, la, la…_ _

__The song compelled nearly all of Downing Street, including workers in windows, to dance the animal movements. Even the Prime Minister paused in an interview to join in briefly, and Arthur revelled in Alfred’s lovingly holding and kissing his hand during the last verse much to Dylan and Connor’s horror. The two even went so far as to make brain damaged gestures in regards to Arthur as a camera secretly filmed them. Then all cameras filmed the return of Gilbird as that bird flitted from beer stein hat decoration to beer stein hat decoration before landing on an actual beer filled stein held up by a pub patron seated at a bistro table._ _

__Hey, I know that dude. Alfred vaguely recognized the scruffy black haired, dark blue eyed beer stein holder just as the music and dancing stopped, and cheers erupted to make Arthur touch his forehead bruise painfully. It was the slightest of movements, but enough to propel Dylan and Connor to snatch Arthur from Alfred and race him across the street and up the Kirkland House steps. “What? No!” Alfred barely had time to run after them before the door slammed shut in his face. “Hey! Let me in brother dudes! Arthur?”_ _

__“You’ve hurt Arthur enough, long enough, Alfred F. Jones.” He heard the Welsh brother say menacingly from inside before their footfalls faded._ _

__“Hey, come back Kirkland fuckers! Let me in.” Alfred pounded on the door until a voice stopped him._ _

__“Keep yer heid, American. Arthur’ll soon be out.” Beer stein guy shouted from his table across the street and gestured Alfred join him. Curiously Alfred did so._ _

__“Did you say Arthur will soon be out? And don’t I know you from somewhere?” He asked as he first placed Gilbird’s carrier on the table for that bird to hop inside, then put his and Arthur’s luggage under the table as he sat._ _

__“Aye, Arthur’ll soon be out because his brothers are right skunners that dis his nut in, but dis ma nut in more.” The man’s dark blue eyes flashed fiercely as he scowled. “As for knowing me, I widnae know. Perhaps from photies Alastair showed ye?”_ _

__Alfred cocked his head. “Photies?” He echoed, confused. The man’s thick Scottish words were surprisingly understable given the context. The Kirkland brothers irritated him worse than they irritated Arthur, he’d said. But what did photographs and Alistair have to do with anything? Alfred thought and thought, then it hit him. “Dominick.” He gulped and pointed._ _

"Aye." 

__“Alastair’s husband.”_ _

__“First husband. He had three. Two while in RAF.”_ _

__“Dominick, dude!” He gulped out all the more, and felt instantly guilty. “Dude, I’m sorry Alastair died. And for hating that fucker! Er, I mean. For hating fucking Alistair. Oh crap!”_ _

__Dominick cracked a smile. “You beat him laldy in Alaska, I’m telt.”_ _

__Alfred shook his head. “No. I could never get any punches in. So mostly I just strangled him.”_ _

__“Och, aye. I strangled him meself when I couldn’t beat him laldy.” Dominick’s smile turned sexy for a brief second, then the scowl returned as his hand formed a furious fist around the beer stein handle. “And Alistair’s buried at your post now.”_ _

__Alfred started to nod, then thought better of it. “Actually, it’s his post still. I have yet to earn it.”_ _

__Dominick loosened his fierce grip on the stein handle at that. “Earn it? Aye, right!” He raised the stein sarcastically._ _

__“Hey, yo. I totally will earn it Dominick Dude! ‘Cause ghost Alistair told me to.”_ _

__“Ghost Alistair.” He repeated, then looked at the table sadly. “I meself hear Alistair on dreich windy nights, havering that I have to earn the house he gifted me.”_ _

__“Oh yeah?” Alfred brightened. “What does he say?”_ _

__“He says I’m to earn it by coming here and protecting his brothers. But not all the brothers, just Conner and Dylan. That’s how I know I’m aff my heid.” He shook his head in disbelief, then his eyes widened with further disbelief when he spotted something under the window. “What’s that about?” He expressed confusion to make Alfred look with him, then both gawked at the cream colored cat standing guard over a sleeping puppy. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing, or is ma heid mince? The awfu' pub cat that knocks things off shelves at people is now guarding a puppy?”_ _

__“Yup, I see it too.” Alfred grinned. “And the puppy’s a cutie.”_ _

__“Naw.” Dominick shook his head. “It’s a blind, sick sniffer pup who’s as aff it’s heid as we are, alerting Kirkland House over and over.”_ _

__“Sniffer dog you say!” Alfred stood up in alarm. “What’s it sniffing? Explosives?”_ _

__“Aye, that’s what it’s supposed to be sniffing. But keep yer heid.” He gestured for Alfred to resume sitting. “The other sniffer dogs didnae smell explosives, so the pup’s a numptie.”_ _

__“Nuh uh! I don’t believe that!” Alfred cried, loud enough to wake the puppy and make its guard cat run off._ _

__“Woof.” Sleepy Paws arf yawned, sniffed the air, then sprang to his feet to sniff his way over to Alfred. Cold. Fluffy. Play. Fun cold. Sleepy Paws thought, and couldn’t get enough of sniffing Alfred’s winter boots._ _

__“Hey, little doggy dude. Hey!” Alfred greeted and petted him. “What’s your name? Sleepy Paws?” He frowned at the name on the tag._ _

__“Aye.” Dominick nodded. “His name was Safety Paws, but the firemen handlers changed it.”_ _

__“Well they shouldn’t have! Because Safety Paws is a hero name, and this dog’s a hero.” Alfred picked him up for a cuddle, but Sleepy Paws’ nose instantly hit on Alfred’s burger grease spot and began licking. “Aw, see what I mean? He even likes burgers, which makes him a hero.”_ _

__Dominick raised the stein a second time. “A hero, aye right!”_ _

__“Yes he is! And his new name is Alfie Hero. ‘Cause he looks like me, and likes burgers like me, and wants to protect Arthur like me.”_ _

__“Speak ‘o the devil.” Dominick grunted as Arthur could now be seen leaving Kirkland House and making a beeline for the pub._ _

__“Hey Arthur, check out this puppy!” Alfred called out, but stopped short when Arthur entered the pub without so much as seeing him. “Uh oh! He’s not supposed to drink alcohol because of his brain injury. I better stop him.”_ _

__“No need.” Dominick again gestured for Alfred to resume sitting. “The pub owner steeps him tea special. See if he dinnae order that.” They watched through the pub window as Arthur seated himself at the booth next to the glass. Seconds later, a tray with tea cup, carafe, and creamer was placed before him much to Alfred’s relief. “Aye, that brings back memories.” Dominick grunted. “Of when Squidgy stayed with Dominick and me after we rescued him from Bonnefoy.”_ _

__“You were there?” Alfred asked enthusiastically.__

____“Aye. And I helped beat the Frenchy laldy.”_ _ _ _

____“Tell me!” Alfred begged, then sat back happily cuddling his new puppy friend as Dominick recalled every welt and bruise he and Alistiar bestowed on the actor who’d dared to con and run off with their beloved ‘Squidgy.’_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Finally, a moment alone._ _ _ _

____Arthur was knackered. It had been an eventful day for his healing brain, filled with brash colors, sounds, movements and emotions. That he had been able to plough through it without seizing was truly a credit to Luddy’s rehabilitation techniques, even when his brothers snatched him away from Alfred to badger him in private. Their badgering had been nothing short of predictable however, like beloved punk rock lyrics blasting his brain over and over during Cambridge cram sessions, stimulating yet routine. He’d soon got through it, even yawned a few times to make Connor ask if he’d been mentally ‘bunking off’ the entire conversation. Arthur pretty much had, so he simply didn’t answer. Then when at last they’d finished demanding he break it off with Alastair’s ‘Stranglaskan Lover,’ (a play on strangle and Alaskan,) AND with Francis’ former stalker doctor, (though they knew full well Francis had lied to the press about Luddy kidnapping him), to start treatment with a British brain specialist of their choosing, Arthur made his escape._ _ _ _

____Of course secretly he had no intention of following either of his brothers' edicts. Also secretly, he had seen Alfred and Dominick outside the pub, but had pretended not to for the sole purpose of spending just a few moments alone, and perhaps sneaking in a brief snooze. First things first however, he had to get comfortable. And so off went his slim wool sport coat to rest partly on the bench beside him, and partly on the window seat beside that, where unbeknownst to him, a certain cream colored pub cat already resided..._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Warm. Dark. Cream. Rich. Brows couldn’t believe the combination of tea and cream smells that enveloped him along with the muffled quiet he’d dove under the coat for. Who was this human with the sportcoat that smelled so utterly perfect? And the smooth unwrinkled trousers, (wrinkled human laps were the worst, according to Brows), practically begging for Brows to curl up in? Brows inched forward while still under the coat to sniff discreetly. The Gabardine trousers felt heavenly against his pink nose, then the pads of his paws when he reached those out, under the guise of cat stretching of course!_ _ _ _

____The man did not notice however, and simply continued to prepare his tea from various implements on a tray. Miraculously as he did so, the soothing clinking and stirring sounds cancelled out all the ear splitting Downing Street noises Brows had suffered from throughout the day. Then when the man at last began sipping his tea, (elegantly, Brows noted), he rested one hand at his side for Brows to sniff discreetly as well. Brows barely managed to suppress the urge to lick and even nibble cream remnants off the man’s fingers. But then the man returned his cup to its saucer just before he rested his chin against his chest and began to snore softly._ _ _ _

____Sleep? Sleep? Brows blinked his cat eyes up at the man with wonder. Of course he'd seen humans sleep before, but in the pub sleep was usually a loud, head thunking on table, snore laden, drooling affair best observed from a high shelf. But this human’s slumber was soft, rhythmic, and utterly inviting. So inviting Brows couldn’t help but rub his ears against the man’s fingers as they twitched in sleep, then rest his chin against the man’s smooth trousers as he purred as softly as the man snored, then at last began snoring himself._ _ _ _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy Paws gets adopted, and yet another non-human speaks and it's...awesome!

_A freak wind storm outside the window, followed by a cat jumping over him and skittering away to seek shelter, then the sensation of being whisked away…_

____

____

Late the following morning, Arthur awoke under a sadly all too familiar Scottish flag duvet on a sadly familiar cot in a sadly familiar white brick guest room. All belonged to Dominick, and Arthur was sheepish as he left the tiny white brick room to traverse a short hallway and arrive at the garden flat’s combination living and kitchen area. “Lord love you, Dominick. For forever putting up with this.” He muttered, gesturing to himself as he slumped onto a kitchen island stool next to his late brother’s brute first husband. Not that Arthur ever wanted to admit in front of Alfred how many times Dominick had whisked his barely conscious, drunken arse out pubs and into this flat in the first weeks following Alastair’s death. 

“You’re awricht, Squidge. And all is gaein be awricht.” Muscly Dominick clapped him on the shoulder to nearly knock him off his stool. 

“You said it, Dominick dude!” Alfred chimed in from the kitchen stove where he was making a burger concoction of some sort, then told Arthur. “We’re totally gonna protect you and your brothers as soon as ghost Alistair tells us how. But Dominick and me must have fucked up last night.” 

“Aye.” Dominick nodded his dark head in agreement. “I dinnae know what we did to make Alistair throw wind laldy. We were just sitting outside letting you nap, Squidge.” 

“Then whoosh!” Alfred reenacted the wind storm. “He let us have it and called us bawbags.” 

Arthur hung his head all the more sheepishly at that. He was the one who’d made his ghostly brother cross at them, by visiting a pub alone. Even if it was strictly to consume tea and have a kip, Alastair would have assumed he was there to get drunk. But again, Arthur wasn’t ready to bring up his brief, yet dark, brush with alcoholism to Alfred. So instead he continued to stay silent and slump his head, until suddenly, without warning, Gilbird broke out his cage to fly at Dominick’s flat screen television viciously.

“Yeah, Gilbird. Yeah! Attack that French fucker again!” Alfred hooted as for the first time Arthur actually got to see Francis’ celebrity baking segment on television. 

“Cannae keep that bird from attacking when the Frenchy’s havering awfu’ nonsense.” Dominick scowled.

Arthur scowled as well, at his bankrolling the segment more than anything. Still, the publicity had proved a godsend for the race, or so he muttered under his breath to make Alfred flinch. 

“You call Francis' lame publicity a godsend, Arthur?” He balked. 

Arthur shrugged. “Well, as it happens Alfred. Pre-orders for Francis’ race themed macarons are through the roof according to my brothers, and that after just two days.” 

“The fuck!” Alfred growled, then turned his attention back to his cooking. “Well, pre-sales for my burger-rons here will totally outsell the French fuck’s in ONE day. See how the unicorn buns are ketchup cookies with mustard frosting in between and hamburger bits on the sides. They’re fucking awesome!” He showed Arthur who was indeed impressed. “Yuh! And I’m gonna serve a side of kick ass along with my race track shaped fries during the cooking segment Dominick’s gonna film for me. Show Bonnefoy that you’re MINE now, no matter how many lame ASMR vlogs he puts out.” 

“ASMR?” Arthur asked Dominick, who for reply remoted the television to switch to YOUTUBE where a viral ASMR vlog titled ‘For Arthur,’ was featured front and center. “Oh Christ.” Arthur shook his head disgustedly to make Dominick grin. 

“Aye, right! But Alfred’s ASMR vlog will beat the Frenchy's laldy once I film that after the cooking segment.” 

“Fuckin A it will! And I’m going to use a chainsaw the way Bonnefoy used his massage tools, on a Barbie head that looks like him!” 

“Oh Christ.” Arthur said again, yet couldn’t help but feel flattered at Alfred and Bonnefoy fighting over him in the press. Then upon giving Francis’ vlog thumbnail a second glance, he knew in an instant the vlog would be as relaxing as it looked. Silk fingers. Silk Voice. Silk scented candles combined with Francis’ subtle cologne. Arthur couldn’t help but pine for such a massage thanks to his current stressed out state at being back home with all his family responsibilities weighing on him. However, he shook his head at such fantasies. No no no no no no. Not a bit of it! He resolved mentally never to think of Francis or Francis’ touch ever again, and instead slid off his stool dutifully. “Right then. While you two carry on here, I’ll inform my brothers of your race publicity ideas over tea at Kirkland House.” 

__“Kirkland House!” Dominick and Alfred said together as if remembering something, then..._ _

__“Dinnae go there, Squidge!” Dominick stood up suddenly._ _

__“No fucking way are you going there!” Alfred turned off the stove, threw off his apron, and ran around the kitchen island._ _

__“Wot’s this about then?” Arthur exclaimed as both brutes stood before him as if ready to tackle him if he so much as thought of leaving._ _

__“Oh crap. I can’t believe we forgot.” Alfred slapped a hand to his forehead. “We were gonna tell you last night, Arthur! Your house steps were alerted for possible explosives. A sniffer puppy alerted them.”_ _

__“You don’t say.” Arthur replied, then demanded they show him even as Dominick threw each man their coat then grabbed his keys to lock the flat behind them._ _

__

__Boring. Sleepy Paws thought, not bothering to move from his blanket tucked in the corner of his glass kennel when breakfast was served. Rice and boiled chicken again, though at least the vitamin for his eyes was wrapped in cheese. Not good cheese though, some sort of bland white stuff instead of fast food burger American cheese, Sleepy Paws’ favorite._ _

__Want out! Want out! Want out! He gnawed at a corner of the blanket in frustration. Yesterday was so awesome. He’d hung out with big brother window cat, heard two impromptu music concerts, (which big brother window cat hated, but he loved,) licked lots and lots of burger wrappers, then wonder of wonders! Got picked up and cuddled by a human that smelled not only of burgers, but of cold fun stuff Sleepy Paws wanted to play in but had no idea what it was._ _

__Want to find that human! Get more cuddles! Get more burgers! “Woof.” He let slip a frustrated bark, then let slip a surprised “arf?,” when suddenly the fire station door crashed open and the human from yesterday stomped inside._ _

__“Where is he? My hero dog buddy with the lame name I’m totally gonna change to Alfie Hero once he’s mine!” The human’s voice boomed to make Sleepy Paws scramble off the blanket and run to the kennel glass door._ _

__“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Sleepy Paws barked and scratched at the door to make all the other sniffer puppies do the same to their doors, but the human only had eyes for him._ _

__“Aw! There he is.” The fun cold smelling human with the burger grease spot on his sleeve pointed straight at Sleepy Paws to make the lead dog handler spew swear words, but in a gobsmacked relieved way._ _

__“That dog? You’re sure?” The handler couldn’t lead Alfred to the kennel fast enough so Alfred could take Sleepy Paws off his hands. “He’s a nutter, that dog. Strong independent streak. Burger obsessed.”_ _

__“Nothing wrong with that.” Alfred gestured to his own McDonald’s tee shirt and American flag bandanna, the latter of which was swiftly placed around Sleepy Paws neck once Alfred had him in his arms._ _

__“Oi, but I mean it.” The handler warned. “We handlers couldn’t do a thing with him.”_ _

__“Oh yeah! Well, there’s one thing you can do.” Alfred grinned as he noticed the dog hero wall filled with pictures of celebrated dogs arranged in a triangle pattern, with the most celebrated dog on top. “Clear your top space for Alfie Hero’s picture, cause he’s about to earn it. Right. Fucking. Now.”_ _

__

__“Awesome! Awesomeness! Das is me, stuck indoors cat who can’t catch a fantastischen bird like me.”_ _

__Of all the bloody..! The German yellow bird from yesterday taunting me? Marching back and forth outside my window ledge? Brows couldn’t believe his widening green cat eyes or twitching pink cat ears. “Hardly STUCK indoors, bird. As I happen to live here.” He insulted, then closed his eyes and resumed his nap position._ _

__“Du live here in England? How boring?” The bird cackled. “Ich live in Alaska, und mein best bird friend ist ein bald eagle.”_ _

__“Sounds horrid. Now kindly remove yourself from my sunbeam, as this is England where sunlight of any sort is in short supply.”_ _

__“Nicht horrid! We eat wilden salmon together!” Gildbird argued out of sheer boredom. When he’d followed Alfred out of Dominick’s flat, he’d expected adventure. But all Alfred had done so far was visit a fire station while the other two humans poked around boring brick steps._ _

__“Again, horrid.” Brows sniffed disgustedly at the thought of eating wild fish, when he was served pints of clean, steamed prawns every time he rang a little bell on the bar for all the pub patrons to see and cheer, ‘pint of prawns for his lordship!’_ _

__“Was? Ein dog?” Gilbird cocked his bird head in confusion when he saw Albert exit the fire station with a dog in his arms. “Das will make things even more boring!”_ _

__“A dog you say?” Brows looked up, then sprang up and out his letterbox cat door when he saw the dog was his own little dog brother Sleepy Paws. Not that nutter human. Not that nutter human. He thought desperately as he bolted across the street, and paid little heed to the bird circling above him. However, upon arriving at the Kirkland House steps where Sleepy Paws was lovingly placed on the ground to be greeted and petted by all the humans in turn, he noticed the pup was as overjoyed as he was overdressed._ _

__“An American human, and American flag bandanna?” Brows meowed but only Sleepy Paws noticed him. “Far better you wear a Union Jack bandanna and attach yourself to this sensible tea smelling human here.” He rubbed his head against Arthur’s ankles, again completely unnoticed._ _

__“But I don’t like tea, I like burgers! And cold fun stuff I’m gonna discover someday! Don’t know when though.” Sleepy Paws said, then suddenly sniffed the air. “Hey! Explosives! Explosives! I smell explosives again, whoof!” He began planting his puppy butt on the bottom step to make the humans praise and pet him appreciatively._ _

__Gore, blimey! He’s being praised for his daft alerting now? Brows looked on in wonder, then arched his back and hissed in fear when two furious men suddenly exited the house and clamored down the steps._ _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbird wants action, and Brows gets noticed by Arthur.

_HISS. _Brows recognised the angry men instantly.__

__“Who are they?” Sleepy Paws yawned, as he was already feeling the effects of what he called his ‘going to sleep’ sound under the steps._ _

__“The Kirkland brothers.” Brows said as he watched the two badger the sensible tea smelling human about his continuing to spend time with his American boyfriend. “I hate them. They are forever popping in my pub to tell my pub owner human that I’m unhygienic and should be put out.”_ _

__“Das ist fighting words!” Gilbird squawked as he continued to circle overhead. “Du should fight!”_ _

__“Quite so.” Brows hiss groused, then said. “Unhygienic indeed. They’re the true dirty buggers. And now that I’m outside and my human can’t stop me I will have a crack at them, and with luck crack their heads.” Lithely he leaped onto a newell post then climbed a trellis up to a window ledge where metal flower pots rested._ _

__“Ja! Ja! Crack their heads. Cracking heads ist awesome!” Gilbird landed on a twin window ledge and prepared to knock over flower pots on the brothers at the same time Brows did. However, Dominick saw them and was quick to shout up._ _

__“Noo, terror pub cat and bird. Yer gonnae no’ dae that.” He ran up the stairs to shoo them off the ledges before they could cause harm, not that their targets appreciated Dominick’s save._ _

__“Still trying to earn the house Alastair gifted you, Dominick?” Dylan turned furious eyes on him._ _

__“Aye, by protecting you two glaikits like ghost Alastair telt me.” The brute replied._ _

__“Yeah! And I’m here to protect Arthur like Alastair told me.” Alfred said, and held up Sleepy Paws. “With the help of this sniffer puppy.”_ _

__The brothers jolted at the sight of Sleepy Paws to make Connor fume. “That blind dosser! We told the firemen to get rid of him long ago.”_ _

__“Get rid of him!” Alfred shot back. “This cutie? What’d he ever do to you?”_ _

__“He lowers the tone of our property acting the maggot, same as you Stranglaskan.”_ _

__Arthur frowned at Connor's’ calling the sniffer dog and Alfred useless, but then brightened. “Well, if the puppy’s sniffing abilities aren’t up to snuff, perhaps we could bring Bess down for a lark? Dearest Bess, I haven’t seen her in ages!” He referred to their ancient security dog, then flinched when Dylan and Connor exchanged pained looks. “Wot? Wot?” He demanded, then guessed straightaway. “She died! When?”_ _

__Connor exhaled sadly. “We made a right bags of not telling you, Squidge. But as it turns out, she was with Alastair when he caught that flu in Dorset, and died from shock under his bed while paramedics worked to revive him.”_ _

__“Her old heart just stopped.” Dylan confirmed._ _

__“Right. So I failed to be with her AND Alastair at the last.” Arthur slumped onto the bottom step._ _

__“Arthur? Arthur?” Alfred tried to join him, but when Arthur tearily waved him away he stomped over to the brothers. “Hey, yo! You should have told him!”_ _

__“Get shirty with us, will you? Stranglaskan.” Dylan scowled. “And you, Hume.” He sniffed disgustedly at Dominick._ _

__“My last name’s still Kirkland. I huvnae changed it back.” Dominick told him proudly._ _

__“What?” Connor growled. “Well, that’s a real cute whore move, that is.”_ _

__The argument continued to escalate as Arthur grieved softly for the loss of his beloved dog, while less than a foot away Sleepy Paws cocked his sleepy puppy head._ _

__“Huh?” Sleepy Paws didn’t know what to make of the human’s behavior, or his big brother window cat’s behavior when Brows gracefully made his way down to street level to join Arthur and lick one of his hands. “Huh? I don’t get it. Didn’t you wanna hurt humans a second ago?” He arfed._ _

__“Yes, quite.” Brows replied between licks._ _

__“Then why lick a human now? Unless his hand tastes like burgers.”_ _

__“His hand doesn’t taste of burgers, Skiver! It tastes of sadness.”_ _

__“Sadness? What's sadness?"_ _

__"You are quite young at that, dog, to not know this word. But I reckon the best way to describe sadness is to compare it to how you felt when you were separated from your litter."_ _

__"Mommy dog and big bros? I miss them and hate that I was taken away! Whoo. Whoo. Whoooo!” He howled softly, then lolled his sleepy head some more as Gilbird fluttered down to join them._ _

__“Ja, und mein awesome human cried when his Bruder moved to Los Angeles. Das sucked!” He pecked at a leaf viciously at the memory._ _

__“Right, then. As you both know how badly sadness feels, you can both help me cheer up this grieving human.” Brows suggested, but spoke too soon, as his licking Arthur’s hand proved enough to make that human stop crying and crack a wan smile._ _

__“Well, hallo.” Arthur noticed Brows at last, and scratched him behind the ears appreciatively. “Ta for the comfort.” He said, then squinted in Sleepy Paws’ direction. “Hmm. That’s weird.” He looked in confusion at the puppy’s sleepiness when moments before he’d been so exuberant. “Here boy. Come here.” He called, and Sleepy Paws sniffed his way to Arthur excitedly and remained excited as Arthur petted him. “Well, that’s cured it.” Arthur said, then petted Sleepy Paws with his left hand to wipe his tears away with his right. However, the simple act of changing hands seemed to make the puppy loll his head again much to Arthur’s surprise._ _

__“Right. What’s going on here?” Arthur decided to solve the mystery, if for no other reason than to take his mind off Bess. He resumed petting Sleepy Paws with his right hand, and the pup instantly perked up. “Now the left.” He switched to his left hand, and instantly Sleepy Paws grew sleepy. “Gore, blimey! Is there such a thing as left-handed petting induced narcolepsy? No, that can’t be right. Something else must be causing it. Something...something…” He held up both his hands to compare, then suddenly the solution hit him like a flash. A flash of metal, to be precise._ _

__On his left wrist was the watch Francis had given him, and at the sight Arthur was filled with relaxing, fond memories of their brief engagement. No no no no no no no. He shook his head at the strong desire to simply skulk off somewhere alone and indulge in watching Francis’ ASMR vlog. I’ll never emotionally cheat on Alfred that way, no matter how stressed I get. He resolved, and unfastened and set the watch far away from himself on the step so he would no longer be tempted to think of Bonnefoy. However, when curious Sleepy Paws wandered over to sniff the discarded object, only to again grow sleepy, Arthur had an epiphany. “It’s the sound, is it? The sound of ticking, rather?” He asked, then shot to his feet in alarm._ _

__Ticking. Ticking. The puppy fell asleep when he heard ticking, most likely because his firemen handlers had implemented the common practice of wrapping a clock in a towel to represent a mother dog's heartbeat to help him sleep at night. But now the puppy heard ticking under the steps, and this combined with his alerting to possible explosives could only mean one thing._ _

__“All you lot, get off those steps now!” He called up to the arguing foursome, then whipped out his cell phone. “Will, old friend.” He called the Kirkland family security guard and Bess’s former handler as he crossed the street. “How bored must you be with Bess gone?” They exchanged condolences as Alfred, Dominick and his brothers gathered around him to overhear him ask Will. “Care to take a new sniffer puppy on a lark?”_ _

__“Arthur, no need. The dog is clearly blind.” Dylan gestured at Sleepy Paws’ runny, unseeing eyes just as an elderly gentleman with military bearing stepped out of Kirkland House._ _

__“Aw, but the blind sniffers are the best ‘uns.” Will the handler gave Sleepy Paws a cursory inspection as he descended the steps, nodded approval, then snapped a lead on him. “Blindness heightens a dog’s other senses, as it did Bess in her senior years. Now where to, Arthur?”_ _

__“Poke about the steps a bit, see if there’s an opening in the bricks where a bomb could have been planted." He suggested._ _

__Dylan sniffed more disgustedly as he watched Will work. "I suppose you'll have a wrecking crew in next, Squidge, to reduce the steps to rubble days before the race. And perhaps a bomb crew at that, to put off anyone attending in the first place.”_ _

__Arthur grimaced. Of course he couldn’t do either, as historically the Kirkland House steps was the race's starting point and with luck hundreds of celebrities and political figures would line closed off Downing Street to watch the race while the public watched from office windows and bleachers set up outside the gate._ _

__Tensely he watched Will in hopes that handler would find something, but when after ten minutes Will failed to find anything Arthur had another idea. A quite...spellbinding idea._ _

__"All you lot. Go do something else for a bit, away from the steps and this street." He made shooing gestures._ _

__"Wha? Ha?" Alfred gawked, while the brothers and Dominick exchanged knowing looks. "The fuck if I'll…"_ _

__"Sod off, Stranglaskan. Blow away like your polar winds and take Hume with you." Dylan insulted, then he and Connor nodded consent at Arthur before heading down a nearby sidestreet._ _

__“Ma name’s Kirkland, bawbags.” Dominick shouted after them, while Alfred expressed confusion._ _

__"They left? Why? When there's a possible bomb and Arthur…"_ _

__"Don’t be feart, Alfred. Squidge will take care o’ it while I film ye baking.” Dominick suggested, nodded to Arthur same as the brothers had, then whistled for Gilbird to follow as he tugged Alfred in the direction of his flat._ _

__Finally! Arthur thought when he was alone at last. However, he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The day’s influx of reporters and camera crews would soon be arriving to film the Prime Minister’s noon briefing in front of his residence. Well! I can hardly wait for them to leave to dispose of a possible bomb, can I? He pondered, then decided. "Nothing for it but to hide my actions by way of a fake publicity stunt. And what a publicity stunt it will be.” He told his new cat friend who blinked slowly in approval, then followed Arthur inside Kirkland House to help him prepare._ _


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a spellbinding, but woefully amateur, idea.

The human was bungling his magic before he even got started, as all humans did. Brows thought as he explored the plethora of luxury soft furnishings decorating Arthur's former teenage bedroom. Worn wool fabrics of the beloved, decades old, curl up on while sipping tea variety. Perfect! And Bows thoroughly enjoyed kneading each throw and upholstered cushion in turn. However, he was soon forced to leave off this activity due to grave human magic errors taking place across the room.

Leap. Brows grudgingly but lithely jumped from the padded chair he'd been sitting on to land on Arthur's former teenage bed where a black magic robe and spell book had been carefully laid out. Whack. Brows easily knocked the book onto the floor and looked at Arthur expectantly. 

____At that, the human stopped collecting black magic props from a drawer to look. "Pardon?" He expressed confusion at Brows' actions._ _ _ _

____Ah, humans. So slow on the uptake no matter how obvious things appear to cats. Brows thought, then grudgingly jumped to the floor and whacked the book under the bed. When this only elicited more confused looks, Brows took hold of the robe with his teeth. Obvious… Enough… Now… Human... He pulled in time to his thoughts until the robe was also on the floor and under the bed._ _ _ _

____"Wot? Wot?" The human blustered, then jolted when Brows reappeared from under the bed to pad over to a closet and paw at a white magic robe hanging there. "White magic? White magic, rather?"_ _ _ _

____Yes, rather. Brows practically screamed his telepathic reply as he jumped onto the chest of drawers to stare unblinking into Arthur’s similar green eyes._ _ _ _

____The human got the message, swallowed, then numbly let the black magic props he’d been holding fall back into the drawer. "Show me." He said, and Brows blinked his eyes once to say 'yes,' then twice to say, 'do exactly as I indicate, magic amateur!'_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Yeah! Yeah! Massage THIS, French mother fucker!” Alfred was halfway through chain sawing a Barbie head that looked like Francis in a live stream viral video when an alert on his phone interrupted. “Huh? Arthur’s going viral now?” He expressed amazement into the camera at the development, and quickly turned off the chainsaw as Dominick turned on the television.  
____

______“Breaking News.” Reporters announced excitedly. “Downing Street, London is currently the scene of an impromptu magic display taking place on the steps of historic Kirkland House, by none other than Arthur Kirkland himself.”_ _ _ _ _ _

____“What? Arthur?” Alfred’s blue eyes widened incredulously at footage of his usually staid boyfriend dressed in a white cape making a smudge circle in the air, while floating lit candles formed a star pattern around him and the steps._ _ _ _

____“Mere days before his family's annual unicorn toy race, Mr. Kirkland seems to be casting a protective spell of sorts, with the objects floating around the star representing various elements, and the floating cat representing his spirit guide.” The reporters continued._ _ _ _

____“Protection? But he’s got me for that!” Alfred protested, and made for the door but Dominick tackled him to stop him._ _ _ _

____“Dinnae interrupt Squidge when he’s magickin’. Thon’s a Kirkland rule ghost Alistair will throw you laldy if ye break.” Dominick held him down to tell him. “Noo, nod if ye understand.”_ _ _ _

____Alfred nodded, Dominick released him, then the two continued watching the news from the floor as Arthur was filmed chanting: “Santa, Rita, Meata, Mater. Ringo, Jonah, Tito, Marlin. Jack, LaToya, Janet, Michael. DumbleDora the Explorer!”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, now that’s just whack! He’s just fucking with the camera crews!” Alfred happily proclaimed, but scowling Dominick wasn’t convinced._ _ _ _

____“Squidge always havers awfu’ nonsense when magickin', to hide what he’s really on aboot.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh? Then what’s he really doing?” Alfred asked, and Dominick pointed at a bomb diffusion container floating in the center of everything. “No!” Alfred exclaimed, then both flinched when Arthur began to chant a teleportation spell._ _ _ _

____“Teleport me now. Now is the time for me. Now, please. So mote it be!” Arthur raised his voice at the last, then noticed Brows when that cat suddenly looked at him with wide eyed, bristled fur concern. “Wot? Have I put my foot in it somehow?” He barely had time to ask, before light shot up through the steps and poof! Caused him to disappear!_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____

___It! It! You were meant to say ‘teleport IT now,’ not ‘teleport ME now,’ human! Brows mentally scolded Arthur as he crashed to the steps along with the candles and props that had been floating with him. However that amateur sorcerer was nowhere to be seen, along with his bomb diffusion chamber. Oh, bugger. Where in bloody hell could they be? He wondered, then a thought hit him and he made to bound for his pub, only to be interrupted by Sleepy Paws howling in terror from inside a Kirkland House window._ _ _

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“Whoo, whoo, whoo! Big brother cat. I feel like he was summoning a devil or something!”

“Calm down, calm down, skiver.” Brows soothed. “All will be made right, shortly. Big brother cat will see to that.” 

“You will? But I wanna be the hero, so let me come!” 

“Wot, you accompany me? Let alone be the hero? Certainly not. Now be a good daft dog and wait there.” 

“No way! Lemme come, lemme come, lemme… Whoo, whoo, whoo!” Sleepy Paws began howling again then scratching at the window when Brows left him to dart across the street and into his letterbox pub door.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brows and Sleepy Paws save the day, while Alfred helps and gets...Bonnefoyed?

Arthur was gone. Gone. Disappeared, in a spellbinding burst of white light that had come up through the steps to transport Arthur and his glowing green eyes that for an instant had resembled stars...into terrifying nothingness

"That...that...what Alistair showed me back at my post!" Alfred pointed and yelped in horror at the television, then yelped some more when on the screen he saw dark clouds descend over the steps. "I lost him. I lost him. My one job here, prevent THAT!"

"No." Dominick next to him shook his dark head, then assured Alfred through chattering teeth when the temperature dipped. "Ye dinnae break the family rule because I stopped ye."

Alfred cocked his confused head. Much as he could respect family rules, his hero senses practically screamed that Arthur's 'magickin' as Dominick called it had gone horribly wrong somehow. And the darkening sky outside combined with sudden fierce winds was a fair indication Alistair felt the same way. 

“Dominick, dude! Now I see why Alastair drafted you to protect the brothers and me Arthur. Because you follow rules and I don’t.”

“Aye?” Dominick questioned. 

“I wasn’t supposed to follow the rules, ‘cause I’m American. Get it?” 

“Oh, aye.” Dominick nodded acknowledgement.

“And you’re a Kirkland and I’m not. Though maybe someday.” 

“Noch.” Dominick shook his head some more. “You dinnae want that, trust me. The brothers will dis your nut in like they do mine.” 

“Don’t care. Arthur’s worth it, if I can still save him. Hopefully I’m not too late.” Alfred croaked, then ran out the garden flat door into the dark windy street. 

“Want out. Want out. Want out. Help big brother cat." Sleepy Paws arfed and scratched desperately at the window, but then he sensed rather than saw the sky outside grow dark and heard an angry wind gust up and down the street. Then next thing he knew he smelled and heard his burger smelling human stumble up the steps. "Woof, woof, woof!" He barked, and same as earlier at the fire station his human heard him, and opened the door to let him out. 

"Puppy hero dude? What were you doing in there?” Sleepy Paws heard Alfred ask, and paused a second to wag his tail and lick Alfred’s hand before sniffing himself across the street in pursuit of Brows’ scent. “Huh? What now? Where’re ya going?” The human followed him uncertainly, and even opened the door to the pub to let him in, though Sleepy Paws sensed his nervousness. Surprisingly though, the pub patrons greeted them warmly instead of ordering them to leave. 

"Oi! It's Brows' mate. Brows' pup mate come to look for him!" The pub patrons hooted at the sight of their favorite pub cat’s dog friend and reached down to pet him in passing as Sleepy Paws made his way past their legs to a stone alcove to the right of the kitchen entrance. “Gaw’an then! Be part of Brows’ Go Pro film. And you too, American. Though it’s doubtful one as big as you will reach the Gaol.” Sleepy Paws heard the patrons cheer Alfred on as if from a great distance, as he was already halfway down a steep stone stairwell by the time Alfred started down it. 

“Gaol? What the fuck’s a gaol? And what the fuck is this stairwell. Owie, ouch! It’s so narrow. Puppy dude? Arthur?” Sleepy Paws heard Alfred resort to yelling as he found himself stuck, but as Sleepy Paws couldn’t do anything to help him, he kept sniffing after big brother cat until at long last he found him.

“Big brother cat! Big brother cat! What’s that on your collar?” He arfed as he sniffed Brows joyously in greeting. 

“Wot, this? It’s a bloody Go Pro, Skiver. My pub owner human is forever clipping it on me then playing the films for the patrons. But whatever are you doing here, when I told you to leave off.” He scolded, then scolded all the more at Alfred’s swearing presence. “Bloody hell. Your nutter human’s here as well?” 

“Yup. ‘Cause he loves me, I think.” Sleepy Paws arfed hopefully.

“Well, he must do to follow you to this place.” Brows declared, then resumed what he’d been doing before Sleepy Paws arrived, licking and tugging at Arthur to regain consciousness. The spell had proved too much for him, apparently. Amateur! However, when Arthur erroneously transported himself down to the gaol instead of transporting a homemade explosive device up to street level, the device had at least become safely ensconced in the bomb diffuser. But as even the smallest blast could cause the already crumbling gaol cell to completely crumble in on itself, Brows was still greatly concerned. “Help me, Skiver. Put that tongue to good use for once, and lick this human like the burger wrappers you love so well.” 

Sleepy Paws was happy to oblige, but when his hardest licking of Arthur’s face failed to rouse the human, he paused to ask. “Why’re we doing this, instead of what firemen do?” 

Brows paused as well. “What firemen do? What in the bloody hell do firemen have to do with anything?” 

“Um...everything!” Sleepy Paws arfed excitedly. “‘Cause they’re heroes like I wanna be. So… I'll move the human like firemen do, yeah! Woof. Woof. Move him like a hero, woof!" Sleepy Paws barked, then took hold of the back of Arthur's collar and with little effort managed to drag him out the cell and halfway down the hallway beyond.

"Oi, I say. Rather undignified, that." Brows bristled at the sight, then bristled all the more when the nutter human managed to peek his head into the hallway and start shouting. 

“Arthur! Arthur! Are you okay? Is that a bomb…? Shit! It’s a total fucking bomb. Arthur, wake up! Wake up, dude! Huh? Is that...puppy dude? Puppy dude, dragging Arthur? Yeah! Yeah! Drag Arthur to me, puppy dude! You can do it! Yeah!”

Bloody hell. The nutter’s shouting will collapse the gaol worse than the bomb. Brows thought, but did feel a sense of relief when at last Sleepy Paws dragged Arthur far enough down the hallway for the nutter to take hold of him. 

“Okay Arthur, you’re breathing. Good. Good. I’ll piss you off back to consciousness. Now listen.” The nutter carefully maneuvered Arthur into the stairwell as he spoke, then Brows and Sleepy Paws followed at his heels as he carried Arthur up the stairs. “Dude! I’m so gonna put a burger on your head again once we’re upstairs. Because I know you hate that, but it’s so fucking epic!” 

“Burger.” Brows heard Arthur let out a weak gasp at Alfred’s words, then saw him weakly swat at his forehead. “No burger. No. Get off, burger wanker.”

“Ha ha, dude! A burger is so gonna be on your forehead if you don’t wake up.” 

Undignified nutter, to threaten such rot. Brows thought, but once again felt relief when results were attained. Arthur came too completely, and blustered.. “Wake up. Wake up. Wot? Where? Where...am I?” He opened his eyes to see, then said. “The Gaol? I know this place. I used to speak to a ghost pirate down here as a child. But that’s not all. Alfred?” 

“Right here, Arthur. Not going anywhere.” The nutter said and held him closer. 

“Alfred, Luv. I wasn’t unconscious the whole time. I saw the bomb before everything went black, and there was a note attached that read; ‘Arthur be with Francis. By death if not by choice. True love forever.’ Whatever could it mean?” He fretted.

“It means some emo super-fan is a shit poet. What else?” Alfred mocked, then they both paused as the message's true meaning hit them. 

“Christ! Francis is in danger same as I am!” Arthur cried, then scrambled out of Alfred’s arms. “We must help him! Help him!” He ran up the stairs. 

“Arthur, take it easy. Arthur?” The nutter called out, but was prevented from following as quickly due to his big size. Brows and Sleepy Paws however easily managed to keep up and reach the pub, where a rather somber scene greeted them. 

“Breaking News out of Stars and Bars, Alaska.” The pub telly blared as patrons watched open mouthed. “The rental cabin that renowned actor and model Francis Bonnefoy has been staying in since November has just exploded…”

“No. Francis? Francis, Luv?” Arthur cried, so gobsmacked Brows felt compelled to jump on the nearest table and lick him for comfort but Arthur didn’t feel it. Nor did he feel the nutter’s hands tug him towards the door when that man arrived. 

“Arthur. Arthur we can’t stay here. You’re in danger as well, remember?” Alfred gulped, then started yelling for the pub occupants to evacuate. “Arthur come on!” 

“...reports confirm a body has been discovered…” The telly droned on. 

“No. No. Francis!” Arthur stayed put to express shock at what he was seeing. 

“...but mysteriously, reports also confirm Bonnefoy has not been seen in Alaska since his former fiance, Arthur Kirkland, left for England two days ago...

“Arthur come on!” Alfred forcefully dragged him to the door as firemen arrived, while Brows jumped down to take hold of Sleepy Paws’ collar and lead him outside and under a car. 

“Big brother cat. The go to sleep sound is sounding really scary and fast now. Why?” That puppy asked innocently as they huddled together safe from the humans gathering in the street. 

“Why? Because it was a bomb you were hearing all this time, Skiver. About to go off I’m afraid.” He looked fearfully towards his pub and beloved pub window, his home for the past year and a half. 

“You’re afraid? Don’t be afraid big brother cat, when you’ve got hero me here to protect you.” 

“Wot, hero you? You a hero?” Brows bristled at his bloody cheek, then thought better of it and conceded. “Why, you are a hero at that, daft dog. And I have the Go Pro footage to prove it, so I suspect the whole world will know it by morning. As for my pub, however...” He let the rest trail off as he braced himself for an explosion. Minutes went by and it didn’t come, then another agonizing five minutes passed before two firemen emerged from the pub. Then at last all the remaining firemen exited with the bomb in Arthur’s diffuser encased in a second diffuser, while shouting to a supervisor that it had been planted under the Kirkland House steps, not under the pub as Brows feared, to make Brows exclaim to Sleepy Paws. “Under the Kirkland House steps, rather? The underground tunnel extends that far, to the place you’ve been alerting to all this time?”

“Uh huh. I totally alerted there, ‘cause I’m the best sniffer dog.” Sleepy Paws shrugged, then cocked his head in confusion when just as the bomb reveal commotion died down, another commotion broke out, this time among the pub patrons crowding the street. “Huh? What’re the humans doing now, big brother cat? Squealing and crying? Why do they sound so happy?”

“Why, I haven’t the foggiest notion Skiver. I suspect they’re in ecstasies over something trivial as they often are.” He replied, then both watched as Arthur broke away from the crowd and his nutter human to run into the arms of...a long haired, cape wearing human Brows recognized instantly from the pub Telly. “Lord save us! Not that prat Francis Bonnefoy, alive. When the news just reported him dead. And whatever is my sensible, tea smelling human thinking of, running to him and...and...kissing HIM? Why, I find your nutter human a better companion for my human than that French utter wanker. And see if I don’t knock shelf objects at the wanker the second I get the chance, to save my human from his sort.” 

“YOUR human?” Sleepy Paws asked, then yawned as he flopped onto the ground in a sleepy lump. “Did you just call my human’s boyfriend YOUR human?”

“I most certainly did not! My human, indeed.” Brows grumbled, though secretly he decided he wouldn’t much mind Arthur Kirkland being his human, considering his quiet sensible ways, perfect tea smell, and of course, his expert taste in wool clothing and furnishings, the trousers of which he imagined himself curling against right now instead of Sleepy Paws, as the two cuddled together for a well deserved kip.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred gets dumped, Francis gets blitzed, and Arthur gets...conflicted?

“Ye came all this way and ne'er saw inside Kirkland house, did ye?”

It was the morning of the race, and Dominick’s question stung Alfred’s red, sleepless, cried out eyes more than the unseasonably bitter cold draft wafting through the garden flat window. Just shaking his blonde head ‘no’ seemed to take all his energy away, so much so he didn’t even bother to straighten his glasses when those dipped lopsidedly at the movement. 

“Ah ne'er saw it either, even when married tae Alastair.”

“Uuuuuuugh.” Alfred pulled Dominick’s Scottish flag coverlet he’d wrapped around the tailored shoulders of his dress suit over his head. "How did this happen?" He wailed. "Arthur leaving me for the French fuck, just 'cause they were both almost killed by some stalker fan that bombed himself instead. I mean, I know they were engaged before and Arthur's been stressed since he came home, but I didn't see this coming at all Dominick Dude! Uuuuuuugh." He started to lay back down on the bed but Dominick stopped him. 

“Nae. Get up an' come on. Race time.”

"Uuuuuuugh.” Alfred got up glumly, then just as glumly followed him to the front door and snapped a leash on his new puppy that was now officially named Alfie Hero. A name featured prominently on the pup’s top dog picture at the fire station, AND a ‘Gallantry and Devotion’ medal awarded by the Queen herself. 

“Dorn’t forget the paw autographs.” Dominick reminded as he zipped Gilbird up in his carrier. 

Alfred dazedly picked up the huge stack from the counter, then the two left the flat for Downing Street. The walk seemed to take forever because every two feet they were stopped for a paw autograph and picture, while on the street double decker buses, cabs and cars honked relentlessly. At one intersection the hand and flag waving out of vehicles was so intense Alfred was reminded of crashing waves at his Alaskan post’s ocean inlet. 

Once at Downing Street however, the star struck behavior was gated off and relegated to bleachers set up behind, but still the pub cat with the cat version of Alfie Hero’s medal had been hounded so much in his window the last few days, Arthur’s former teenage bedroom window at Kirkland House was now his new favorite resting spot. 

Lucky! Alfred gazed up jealously at the cat he totally expected to see lounging, but much to his surprise the cat looked oddly alert and ready to do something nefarious at any moment. 

“Hah! Will ye look at 'at. The animals are organized, wi' this bird being the general.” Dominick chortled and cocked his dark head at Gilbird. 

“Huh? What?” Alfred cocked his own head in confusion, then couldn’t help but gape in heartbroken bewilderment when Arthur and Francis exited the house holding hands to announce the start of the race. At their arrival Arthur and Francis' fans on the bleachers cheered, most notably the Bonnefoy Blood Roses singing group, that began to sing a romantic rendition of ‘Frère Jacques’ to Arthur this time instead of their homicidal version from days earlier. 

Bustle butt freaks. Alfred thought, then seethed when smug Francis asked to hold Alfie Hero to steal attention from more famous celebrities lining the street. Alfred opened his mouth to say 'no fucking way!,' but one pleading look from Arthur and he handed Alfie hero over glumly, then looked down at his dress shoes just as glumly. 

“Places, please. All contestants to the steps and all reporters off the track as the race is about to begin.” The race coordinator announced then gestured Arthur approach the microphone as Gilbird’s fellow contestants took their places next to him. But no sooner did Arthur step away from Francis…

_Screech! _Gilbird let out a war cry and burst out his cage. Alfie Hero peed on Francis on cue. Brows leaped onto the Kirkland House window ledge to swat a flower pot at Francis’ head. Then last but not least, Gilbird swooped down on Francis to blitz him with bird droppings and make him run away screeching.__

__“Francis, Luv?” Arthur called even as the rest of Downing Street laughed. Then Alfred's name was called out over drum and fife noises, and the Yankee Noodle Boys took the center spot on the bleachers dressed in the same Revolutionary War uniforms and noodle embellished hats they'd worn days before._ _

__“Oh…” They started to sing and play._ _

Yankee noodle went to London,  
Riding on a noodle-o.  
Boyfriend Arthur broke his heart  
And told him toodle-loo-o.

Yankee Noodle keep chin up  
You can still romanc-y.  
Stick your noodle in the snow,  
And call it baked Alask-y.

Yankee Noodle keep it up,  
Yankee Noodle dance-y.  
Mind the music and the step,  
Win Arthur back from France-y 

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__“Yeah! Yeah!” Alfred cheered along with the crowds and felt alive for the first time in days. However, when he pumped a happy fist in the air, he felt something cold and fluffy hit his bare fingers to make him look up. “Snow? In London?” He proclaimed, then looked down to see Alfie Hero sniffing the air ecstatically by his feet._ _

__“Snow? Snow? Cold fun stuff is snow?” Alfie Hero woofed joyously, at last getting to experience first hand what he’d been smelling on Alfred’s shoes all this time. “Snow is the cold fun stuff, big brother cat!” He woofed to the window._ _

__“Yes, quite. Quite horrid!” Brows quipped, and couldn’t return to the warm wool furnishings of Kirkland House fast enough._ _

__“Snow, yeah!” Alfred cheered and pumped his fist again, then knelt down to make Alfie Hero’s first ever snowball. “Fuck yeah, Alfie Hero! Snow is awesome. But just wait until you see all the snow at my post in Alaska. And there’s an avalanche rescue dog team we can start training soon as we get home, ‘kay boy?” Alfred promised, not knowing for an instant Arthur had whipped around from where he’d been standing at the microphone to gape at Alfred frantically._ _

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__Alfred leave? Arthur thought, then realized with a jolt that he had been the one to leave Alfred, so what else could the young man do but go home? Yes, Alaska is the best place for him. Arthur thought, recalling what Francis had said about Alfred and Matthew being children. Yes, children. Quite so. That Francis and I can best spoil with our rekindled celebrity couple earnings. He tried to tell himself, though rather unconvincingly, then without warning the words 'Alfred Luv!' blurted from his mouth. And just like that his heart screamed for Alfred, and he turned his eyes away to look for Francis, but saw Alfred instead run into the swirling whiteness to delight his eyes and torture his conflicted heart.__


End file.
